Once in a Blue Moon
by originella
Summary: Edythe Grayson is the adoptive daughter and oldest child of Capt. Hunter Grayson and Capt. Maggie Grayson; she is also the adoptive granddaughter of Olivia Benson. After her mother spills the beans to Olivia, Edythe reflects on her misdeeds, including her drug arrest and many other things she's not proud of. When she graduates, she meets millionaire Lincoln Beckett, and sparks fly.
1. Hot Topic

Chapter One: Hot Topic

I remember when my mother found me in that hotel room; it was my birthday, and I was wearing this impressive ballgown; it made me feel grown-up, and it probably cost more than my adoption did twofold. Fifteen; that's how old I was when my mother discovered that I was sexually active; I'd been raped at fourteen and she sure as hell knew about that at the drop of a hat. I tried playing it off, but of course, when your mom is a cop, she has friends who are cops; in my state of mind, all I really saw was she was trying and succeeding at ruining my birthday...

I remember practically screaming when the bedroom door was shoved open and the lights were flicked on in one motion. There was a small glass table in the center of the bed, I remember that; I also remember Ryder, resident bad boy/cool kid, had taken out his likely bounced or expired credit cards and used it to cut the drugs, their white power littering the glass surface. On my arm was an I.V.; the heroin was entering my bloodstream faster than the speed of light. And, at the center of it all, is me, naked, joint in my mouth, sitting beside Ryder; he was most certainly not Jason—my fake, choir-boy boyfriend; he was an older guy I knew and hung around with, sometimes without Mom's permission; I'd thought he was badass, especially with a name like Ryder Knox. I could see how shocked she was, my adoptive mother, who had taken me into her home because I'd asked her to. What I didn't know was what shocked her more—that Ryder and I had slept together, or the mini drug cartel we seemed to be running out of the hotel room. I could tell Ryder wasn't sure either, due to the pleased-yet-frightened look on his face at my cop mother staring at us.

"This gonna turn out to be a three-way?" Ryder asks, a rather fat joint in between his teeth.

 _Shut up_ , I think instantly; the last thing I wanted was a lecture about propriety from this nun/mother I had...

"Liv! Fin!" she shouted, and the two of them are in there instantly—Detectives Benson and Tutuola, my mother's closest friends—the shock on their faces more than likely an exact copy of mine.

"M— _om_!" I shout. "Why you gotta s-stop all the fun?! Why c-can't you j-just let me do me?!"

"Because this isn't you," she replies, and, to my horror, she sounds like the exact opposite of who she really is—cold. "This isn't you, Edythe—this is _not_ my daughter, and this is certainly not how I brought you up! I can't believe..."

"Mom, come on," I say, pulling the needle from my arm and throwing it across the room with a clatter; damn, that hurt. "Let's just go back to the party and dance and laugh and have fun..."

"No." She watches me as I slip out of the bed anyhow, and I feel relief wash over me when Fin and Olivia look away as I make a quick grab for my matching bra and underwear. "No, Edythe, you're not going back there," she says, as I turn back towards her.

"Wha—what?" I asked, utterly confused.

"Your call," Fin tells me, as I look from one cop to the other.

"Yeah, Maggie," Olivia says softly. "Whatever you want."

 _Whatever she wants_?! I'd thought at the time. _Who's the birthday girl here_?!

"Arrest him," my mother says, nodding to Ryder.

"With pleasure," Fin says, stepping forward. "Get your boxers back on, you creep," he tells him, throwing them at Ryder, who is surprisingly compliant as I immediately step away from the scene. "Get up," Fin says unforgivingly, throwing Ryder's clothes at him as they make their way out of the room. "You're under arrest for the rape of Edythe Grayson and contributing to the delinquency of a minor!"

Ryder laughs, trying to play it off. "Yeah, man, I don't know about..."

"Shut up!" says Fin. "That girl—that girl back there—she's fifteen man, _fifteen_ for god's sake!" he yells as the elevator doors open. "Get inside there. Let's go!" Fin hauls Ryder out of there, as Ryder protests over and over again that it wasn't rape, which, of course, in the eyes of the law, it was.

"What about Edythe?" Olivia says as I attempt to get situated by slipping my dress back on all my own—I guess I couldn't get any help tying the laces anymore. "I'll bet if she pled guilty, they'd make her do rehab for three months and that'd be the end of it..."

I hear my mother sigh, and her eyes on me as she looking over. I did my best not to look at her—she'd successfully ruined my night, and that had been her intention all along, that was clear. All she cared about were the bio kids she'd had with my dad, and I would play second fiddle to them no matter what. My mind flashed ahead, and I wondered what would happened if they found themselves in a similar situation to this one...

"Arrest her," she tells Olivia.

My stomach drops, turning to look at my mother, who looks totally and completely unemotional as Olivia sighs.

Olivia nods, knowing she must do her job. "Done." She mercifully waits until I've finished dressing, and Olivia stepped towards me and takes me by the arm, and I swing around to face her, my eyes pleading, something that Olivia takes little to no notice of. "Edythe Grayson, you're under arrest for juvenile drug possession," she says, leading me away from my mother—who, meanwhile, is looking at me like se doesn't even know me—and out of there.

"What the hell, Mom?!" I demand, my voice cracking.

Olivia takes no notice and continues pulling on me out of the hotel room, amid my screams of protest. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney," Olivia continues as the elevator doors open.

"Mom!" I scream. "What are you doing this to me, you fucking bitch?!" I yell, and my mother takes no notice.

Olivia continues as if she hasn't been interrupted, "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you..." She says until the doors close with a slam.

I was promptly locked up in juvenile detention, as soon as Olivia had dropped me off; I said nothing as I was taken in. I remember the guards laughing at me when I appeared in my dress; if it hadn't been winter, they would've guessed I was involved in some prom night scheme, although my birth certificate would have said otherwise. I filled out the damned paperwork, the question _Have you ever been raped_ stared out at me. I promptly checked 'yes' and finished the form; I barely even remember what half of it said. I handed over my personal belongings before being shown to the single stall, bolted window, ladies room, where I was given a slip to walk down the hall to be physically examined. I felt relief when it was a woman doing the exam, but not when she shook her head at me.

"Strip," she ordered, and I felt my last ounce of relief leaving me then.

Turning away from her, I took off the paper gown and the woman took it from me, throwing it into the trash can nearby. I was told to lift my arms and spread my legs, and I imagined myself on a faraway beach somewhere, doing a yoga pose with that Asian guy with the silky black hair, who always wore it in a long ponytail. The woman's hands on me were cold and unfeeling—which, I suppose, you would want in this situation—as they roved over the surface of my skin. Then, came the internal exam, right after she'd gone over my thighs. I stiffened automatically when she examined me both in front and in back, and she had the nerve to swat me on my ass when I dared to disturb her job.

I remained silent throughout the ordeal before she said I could stand normally again; I was then escorted to the showers next door by another guard, who took there while I methodically washed myself. I focused on the drab décor—the showers were done up in this pale-yellow tile that lacked emotion and appeared to be assembled quickly. The woman had gone to a linen cupboard across the bathroom and had gotten me out some clothes in my size—underwear, camisole, undershirt, pants, and a short-sleeved outer shirt, all in a gross, unappealing grayish-purple, which I was told to put on as soon as I got out of the shower.

 _Far cry from a ballgown_ , I thought ruefully, lowering my eyes to the cool, concrete floor as I dressed myself quickly. The woman took me by the arm again and brought me down the hall, out of the bathroom, and into what looked like a scary, cheap camp cabin. All the bunk bed frames were a weak, cheap metal with chipped paint, and the mattresses were some of the thinnest I'd ever seen. I was then given an additional sheet and thin blanket and told to go to sleep immediately, as it was after lights' out; I curled into a fetal position, and ignored any efforts made by the other girls to talk to me.

I had to wait until the following morning to move, and was promptly told that some strings had been pulled and I'd been granted a court date during wake up, which was at six a.m. I shivered; it was a cool morning and I guessed they didn't think that delinquent girls needed any form of heating; the uniforms—or jumpsuits, as I'd heard them called by the other girls—were a flimsy cotton material that didn't do any good at keeping you warm. I was led to the main room briefly, my dress returned, although in crummy condition; I was told a small would be waiting for me after an unappealing, uneventful breakfast. I was also told that the car would transport me to court, and I was led there by a male guard this time, one who grinned at me as he groped my breasts in one of the deserted hallways close to the front doors.

After I was put into the car, the driver said nothing to me, and, once we arrived, there was another guard waiting for me to bring me inside. Once I stepped out, the man had me by the arm and took me in via a back door, and I immediately saw old-timey cells. At once, I began to thrash—no way. No way in hell...

"No!" I screamed, trying to get away, getting flashbacks—one of my punishments as a very little girl, before I was adopted, Jake would lock me up in these dog crates originally meant for Dobermans or something; needless so say, cages and I did not mix. "Don't put me in there!" I shouted.

Losing his patience, the guard unlocked the cell and threw me inside, locking the door behind me. "Keep quiet about that, you little bitch," he hissed through his teeth. "Someone like you? You'll be back. Besides, no one would believe a drug addict about mistreatment, now would they?" he asked, his cruel laughter still echoing in my head as he walked off.

My tears keep my cheeks warm; it was at least another hour until my hearing, so I could only sit in various places of the cell. Sobbing, I rocked back and forth upon the insignificant little wooden bench—attached to the wall, of course—provided, and cross my fingers for something good to happen.

I must've fallen asleep, because the next thing I'm aware of is expensive shoes clicking on the floor. Looking up, I see two familiar people are being brought to the back where I am located, and I feel the onset of tears come when I spot that my mother is one of them. Her eyes rove over me then, and widen at the sight of my dress—frightfully dirty—as tears fall down her cheeks.

"Mom!" I shout, tears flowing freely down my face as I gets to my feet, gripping the bars of the cell in front of me.

"Sweetheart," she says, all her resolve appearing to have gone as the door is unlocked and she and some gentleman clad in an expensive, Armani suit step inside there with me. I immediately throw my arms around her and weep onto her suit jacket.

"I'm so, so sorry, Mom!" I say, sobbing. "I didn't mean to, I swear!" I pull back then when I fully sense John behind her, and hastily look him up and down. "I'm not... You're not...? Who is that?"

"John Buchanan," the man says, putting out his hand. "I'm an attorney, and I work for your mother. I'm here to represent you."

"Attorney?" I whispers, turning to look at my mother.

"He's the best, sweetheart."

"If you tell me the whole, honest truth," John tells me quietly, "I promise you that you will not spend another moment in jail, and that you can go home with your mother today."

I look at my mother in fear. "The whole truth?"

She nods. "That's the only way to resolve this, sweetheart."

I sigh, shaking. "Okay. Okay, I'll tell you everything." I sit down at the wooden table in the center of the cell, and John and my mother move to sit with me. "Ryder was a friend from school—a senior—before he dropped out last spring. Ryder was...he was different," I say, lowering her eyes. "At first, it was just some drinks —fruity ones, I couldn't even taste the alcohol, and I never had more than one or two. Within a few weeks, I was getting blackout drunk—I couldn't tell you what went on after that, although I do remember waking up the next day with my skirt and pantyhose or tights torn and feeling sore down there..."

"Did you ever bleed?" John asks, looking up from his notes.

"Not unless it was that time of the month," I reply, meeting John's eyes. "I lost my virginity—for lack of a better word—when I was about six. My birth mother's boyfriend raped me, and I was stuck in that situation for almost a year until I was brought out of there. My maternal grandmother got custody of me, but she was murdered and my biological dad's dead, and after my biological mom lost her rights to me, Mom adopted me..."

"I'm caught up now," John tells me gently. "Go on."

"After the blackouts, which lasted for a good three or four months, I wanted something harder," I say, going into a fetal position—I begin shaking, feeling utterly and completely ashamed. "I started smoking..."

"Cigarettes?" John asks.

I sigh. "Yeah—for about a week or two. They didn't do anything for me, and Ryder told me to give it some time. By that time, I was desperate, and he gave me a joint and I never looked back." Tears filled my eyes, remembering what it was like, trying to get the edge off, but having to lie to my parents about it, all of it, everything. "It was about six weeks later that I'd graduated to cocaine—nothing's like snorting the stuff... Like some crushed up diamonds..."

"How long until you tried heroin?" John asks.

"About two months later," I replies.

"Did you remember to bring her journal?" John asks me.

I watch as my mother removes it from her briefcase and I gasp a little. "Trust me," she tells me as John takes it from her.

"Does this detail your drug use?"

"And sexual exploits," I confess, mortified.

John nods. "Good. We can enter it into evidence." He goes through it meticulously and manages to figure out the timeline for my drug use and sexual escapades. "And it says that about five months ago, you received an abortion from a free clinic?" he asks, no judgement in his tone.

My mother nearly squeaks in shock.

That had been six months after I'd been raped on the subway, and when we'd been on the cruise. How had I managed to do so without knowing the language, you ask? Well...

"Edythe..." My mother begins.

"Yes," I say, ignoring her outburst. "It was Ryder's baby..."

"Edythe!" my mother cries out, and I know full well that she is doing the math in her mind. "We were in Sweden..."

"English is a second language of Sweden," John says softly.

I turn her eyes to hers. "Du är inte den enda flerspråkiga i familjen, mamma," I say; I am telling her that I was not the only one in the family capable of speaking more than one language.

She nearly falls out of her chair at the sound of me speaking perfect Swedish. It dawned on her then that perhaps that Rosetta Stone program had not been a waste of money at all, but that was beside the point. I had had an abortion—an abortion! —at the age of only fourteen.

"And after the abortion?" John asks.

"I thought that since we were on the cruise, I could try to get clean," I say in a rush then. "I managed to stay sober and drug-free for weeks, because the lowest legal drinking age is sixteen and, let's face it, I couldn't pass for that old yet. Given the rate I'm going with the drinking and the drugging, if I can't stop, I'll be looking as old as I feel," I say softly, shaking my head. "After the cruise, I hooked up with Ryder again... He told me that he loved me, and I believed him. I remembered just losing control at school, and it got to the point where I was asking my teachers once every class to let me use the bathroom so I could shoot up or whatever suited my fancy that day in the girls' bathroom. Mostly heroin—that stuff doesn't really have a scent—or coke. Pot was too dangerous," I say with a little giggle then, and remember him talking about dangerous and save environments and stuff like that when it came to drug culture. "You gotta stick your head out the window, learned that the hard way, and got in big trouble..."

"I didn't know about this," my mother says.

I laugh then, and I realize that I still must have come of the cocaine in my system, which could be there for two to four days. "That's because Mr. Jameson caught me," I say. "You know, that seventeen-year-old child genius student teacher Mrs. Walsh has in her class... Caught me," I say, raising a fake gun to my head and pulling the trigger, "red-handed."

"Did you sleep with Mr. Jameson that day?" John Buchanan asks.

I nod. "That day and every day," I reply. "I call him Todd now—Toddy if he's being _especially_ well-behaved..."

"Where do you two do it?" John asks.

My mother looks sick to her stomach, but I ignore her.

"The teacher's lounge," I reply effortlessly. "That was during the weekend and Todd would turn off the cameras," I say, shrugging a little. "But mostly we'd do it in his little office—I think it used to be a broom closet or something. He's _so_ good, Mr. Buchanan," I tell him with a giggle. "So, _so_ good..."

"All right," John says, not dwelling on it. "Keep going."

After another few minutes—and knowing far too much about my mother's reaction to my personal life—I watch as my mother digs into her briefcase for the new outfit she'd brought for me. She produced my school uniform and I was also permitted a shower, by my mother calling in a favor. After my shower, I allowed my mother to brush my hair out and braid it. I knew then that we were trying to get the sympathy vote, and I watch as she forces herself to tear myself away from me, and I wonder then about the love between mothers and daughters, and how deep it runs as I am permitted to wait with John until my hearing as my mother leaves us to step outside.

We are permitted inside the courtroom a few minutes later, and John whispers for me not to speak unless directly spoken to. He says that he and I can speak to one another, but only in a whisper. Unless, of course, I don't want to risk something being heard, I can slip him a note, for him to speak on me behalf. Turning, I notice my mother sitting with Olivia and Fin, and I force myself not to lash out at them—they were, after all, just doing their jobs.

The bailiff steps forward at the appointed time as the door to the judges' chambers opens. "They all rise for Judge Elizabeth Donnelly," he states.

"Judge Donnelly?!" I hear my mother squeak from behind me.

"Called in a favor," John Buchanan whispers from next to me.

"You call that a favor?" Fin says quietly. "She censured him last time around when we were all here..."

Judge Donnelly steps into the courtroom, her judge robes pristine as she steps into her place and moves her paperwork in front of her. "Be seated," she says softly, moving to do so herself. "I'll hear your thoughts on bail..."

Immediately, my hackles rise as the ADA decides to strut their stuff and paint an inaccurate picture of me. "Your Honor, Miss Grayson's parents are a captain in Internal Affairs and Captain Grayson of Manhattan Homicide, as well as her uncle being a decorated FBI agent, meaning that she could have ample opportunity to run," they say. "We request remand."

"Your Honor, my client is a minor—she's fifteen-years-old. We're not disputing the occupation of her parents, however the both of them are committed to the law and don't wish to see their daughter hurt. We request ROR on the condition that she pleads guilty to one count of possession and one count of the taking of the drugs themselves—one count per drug, meaning three counts. Miss Grayson will surrender her passport and remain in the custody of her mother and father, who are both prepared to take time off work."

"ROR does seem appropriate in this situation," Judge Donnelly says, turning to look at the ADA.

"ROR on the condition that the plea is entered now, and we can be done with all of this," the ADA states.

"Mr. Buchanan?" Judge Donnelly asks.

John whispers to me, and I nod and whisper back to him. "Your Honor, my client has asked permission to allocute."

"Granted," Judge Donnelly says.

I leave John Buchanan's side and move stand before the judge. "I didn't know for a long time what the definition of right or wrong was, Your Honor," I begin quietly. "It is said that we learn from our parents, and I was not originally blessed with Hunter and Maggie Grayson as my mother and father. I tried my best to deal with the hand dealt to me, and instead of protection, I was rewarded with selfishness, neglect, physical, and sexual abuse. The sexual abuse came from my mother's live-in boyfriend, and it all began just a few months after I turned six. It was an alcohol and drug-filled environment and I didn't know any better; even though I was adopted when I was very young, I still never fully healed from all the abuse—my mother's boyfriend had a gang of pedophiles who would all takes turns with me. I went to therapy, but stopped when I believed that the therapist was making inappropriate advances towards me. I became a sexualized being a few months after I turned thirteen, giving oral sex here and there to begin to get my fixes," I goes on, shivering ever so slightly. "By the time I turned fourteen, I was raped, and the hospital was shocked to discover that I'd been sexually active in the past, and I had to divulge to authority figures again. When Ryder Knox came into my life, I thought I had at last found someone who was hurting as much as I was. I ended up lying to my parents, telling them that another guy was my boyfriend, and that I had a circle of girlfriends as well. But whenever I'd leave the house to do homework or to have a sleepover, I'd go to Ryder's crack den in Harlem to get high and drunk. I was beaten and raped if the others I was trying to sell to would steal my merchandise, or to those who wouldn't pay for having sex with me. I thought it was all right, what I was doing, because I was so consumed with it that I lost touch—I lost who I truly was." I sighed a little and I felt my shoulders shaking as I cried. "Just after one night in jail, I know I don't want to go back there, but I know I have to pay for what I've done. I know I should be punished, so please, just be quick about it. I'm guilty; I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict, and I know that I should be punished accordingly. I am so sorry to the people I've hurt..." I turn around then. "Mom, I'm so, so sorry—I love you... And I'm sorry for the laws I've broken," I go on, turning back to Judge Donnelly. "Thank you, Your Honor," I say before returning to my place beside John Buchanan.

Judge Donnelly sighs, and I can see she's quite moved by my performance. I watch as she looks over the paperwork in front of her, and I wonder if one of them is a form of permission slip for my mother to sign me away to a juvenile facility. She shuts the folder then, looking out at me and biting her lip. "You know, normally I need to return to chambers, but not this time. Edythe Grayson, please stand." She waits for me to stand. "You have pled guilty to your crimes, and obviously are ready to receive help. There's a treatment facility in New Haven, Connecticut that I think would be of help to you. It's a six-month treatment program, so you would have to do your schooling online, and they would help you set that up. When you return after treatment, you'll be on house arrest for the rest of the summer as a part of your treatment program. While you're in the treatment program, you will not have access to a computer—apart from your schooling—or a phone, apart from contacting your mother and father. If you don't break any laws between now and your eighteenth birthday, your records will be sealed and wiped clean. Is that understood, Miss Grayson?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I reply.

"Good. I'll call the treatment facility and make the arrangements. Families are permitted to visit every other weekend, pending good behavior," Judge Donnelly addresses my mother. "Will this be an issue for you?"

My mother gets to her feet. "No, Your Honor—and neither is it a financial one. My husband and I would do anything for Edythe to be well again."

Judge Donnelly nods, and she turns back to me; she is firm but fair, I can see that now. "One other thing as a condition for your probation, Miss Grayson, is that you must attend weekly teenage AA meetings and substance abuse meetings until your eighteenth birthday. When your records are sealed and wiped, you will be able to decide otherwise. I will also recommend for some therapists for you to see, and you two can decide accordingly," she states, bringing me back into the decision-making. "Understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," my mother and I say together.

"Good. Case dismissed," Judge Donnelly says, slamming her gavel down and going back into her chambers.

I immediately fly through the divider separating my mother and I and throw myself into her arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I crow.

She smiles, kissing her temple. "You really should be thanking John Buchanan," she tells me quickly. "He's the one who did all this."

"All part of my job," John says, chuckling. He places his hand upon my shoulder and squeezes it. "I never want to see you again under these circumstances, young lady—is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Buchanan," I says quickly.

He nods. "Good. Maggie," he says, nodding.

"John, wait," she says, quickly getting out her checkbook, scrawling a series of numbers into the correct box, and I wonder then if she is doubling his fee—which would be most appropriate at this point. "Take the wife out, and get your kids something nice," she says, handing it over to him.

John's eyes fill with tears as he sees the amount. "Thank you, Maggie," he says with a little sigh. "You're a good woman Maggie—remember that well, now, Edythe," John says with a look of mock-severity before going out of the courtroom doors.

After a few weeks of living in New Haven, I found that I loved it—not only was I in a group home full of other girls with similar issues, but the group therapy was proving beneficial. Every week, we were marked according to our behavior, our completion of chores, and obligations to the terms of our probation. I was given high marks in everything; I truly wanted to make this work, and, as the weeks went by, I didn't lose any privileges afforded to us within the rehab facility.

In group therapy, there was one girl nicknamed Pepper; she had long, curly red hair and bright green eyes; she was in there because she'd attempted suicide several times. She always wore long sleeves and baggy clothes, because she was anorexic and weighed less than a hundred and ten pounds; the long sleeves and pants mainly served to cover up the razor and knife wounds she'd used to cut her skin, to show herself how disgusting she perceived herself to truly be. Pepper had the room next to mine, and we would talk late into the night through the heating vents upon the floor underneath our beds.

One early morning, I was woken up by one of the staff members. One of the conditions of good behavior is that you're allowed to sleep an hour later when the girls who have misbehaved have to get up an hour earlier to help with breakfast. I am only about half-way into my extra hour when the rude awakening comes, and I shuffle down the stairs; it is a large group home, so large, in fact, that we don't have roommates, unless you've been punished, and then you're forced to share a room with the person accused of the same crime.

Getting up, I pull on a pair of sweat pants, leaving on my tank top and yanking a sweatshirt over my head. Putting on my slippers, I quickly tug my hair into a ponytail and make my way downstairs. Along the walls are various pictures of girls who have kept in touch over the years, and I find myself wondering if I, too will be a success story from this program.

"Hi, Mom," I call out.

She turns to look at me and smiles; her eyes are red, so I automatically wonder if it is because she missed me so much. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm sorry—did I wake you up?"

I shrug. "Eh, it's fine. Great to see you." I step forward and accept her hug. "Is something wrong? You're here so early, and it's not family day..."

She pulls back and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. "Let's go talk in the living room, okay?"

I nod, accepting her arm around my shoulders and leading her into the main living room off the entryway. She and I sit upon the striped couch along the back wall, and I notice that she waits for the door to be shut completely by the same staff member who collected me from my bedroom before she begins speaking. I find that my mother is gripping my hands tightly, almost as if she is fearful of my reaction to something unknown.

"Sweetheart, you know the reason that your father hasn't been able to come and visit with me these past several weeks, right?"

I nod. "Yeah, Mom. He's on assignment for the FBI with Uncle Mason," I reply matter-of-factly.

She shakes my head. "No. No, he's not. Uncle Mason is still on assignment, but your father got back last night."

I blink. "Where is he, then?" I ask, looking around her, as if a small child might do when given the promise of a present.

She bites her lip, hesitating briefly before forcing herself to speak. "Edythe, I'm so sorry. I got a call before midnight last night saying that there'd been an accident while he was on assignment. He was shot, honey, in the spine, and he had some internal bleeding..." I am silent, so she continues, "They couldn't remove the bullet—they put him into a medically-induced coma—because he began to hemorrhage severely. Because of this, he had a heart attack and he passed away on the operating table." I feel my eyes fill with tears—Daddy? Dead? No... "Daddy's dead, Mom?" I ask then, and I remembered that man from so long ago, in the park with her, before they'd married, and how absolutely wonderful I believed he was.

"Yes, sweetheart," she replies, her eyes filling with tears again. "Yes. Yes, he's dead. I'm so sorry."

I let out a sob then, and lean forward and putting my arms around her. I can't let her go; she is the only parent I have left! I am shaking, as I did on that day in court, as I did when my first high went badly, as I did the first time Jake raped me. I find I cannot let her go, not anymore.

I held my mother and we cried together; I realized then that I didn't want to ever feel this feeling ever again. I didn't want to lose anyone ever again. After about twenty minutes of this, she quickly manages to get the woman in charge of the house to sign my release papers, and I is permitted to pack her things. She tells me that she will be waiting outside, as she needed to get some air.

I walked up the stairs in silence, before walking into my bedroom, the door still open. I shut it behind me, and set about gathering my things for the journey home that early, cloudy morning. Wandering over towards the window, I spot my mother taking her phone out of her pocket, and immediately answering the call. It probably had to do with something about my father—an insurance pay-out, or funeral arrangements—and I shake my head, continuing to pack my things in my monogramed duffel, an envy of a select few girls in the house.

Finally, after I've finished, I really consider my father's death for the first time—no more calling my daddy and having him lift me triumphantly into his arms, even though I was too old for that now. No more backyard picnics; no more swimming championships; no more trampoline competitions; no more anything. Then, I slide to the floor, and stick a fist into my mouth to stop the sobs from becoming far too loud for any of the rehab facility to handle.


	2. Ulterior Motives

Chapter Two: Ulterior Motives

"Mom, I was trying to talk to you," I say, gently putting my hand upon her wrist as she comes into the kitchen. "I've been clean for seven months and three weeks, and you've only let me leave the house for those AA meetings. They're so depressing," I say, shaking my head, heading over to the refrigerator and getting out Greek yogurt and blueberries, before shutting the door behind me. Then I fetch the jar of honey from the pantry and a bowl and a spoon before taking it to the kitchen bar. "Mom?"

She sighs, turning off the water; I notice her hands, so chapped from doing so many dishes over the past three months. She tried to keep busy around the house throughout the summer, as she was put on a mandatory vacation. "Yeah, I know that, sweetheart," she says, drying her hands as she turns around to face me. "It's just a difficult time right now. The morgue is due to release your father's body at the end of the week and then the funeral arrangements will be planned..."

"Tell me why they couldn't have just done that whole autopsy thing right away, please," I say, my mouth full.

"The best of the best were still knee-deep in the whole investigation regarding the Boston Marathon bombings," she replies patiently, knowing full well that we'd gone over this initially.

"He's going to die," I predicted.

She blinked, apparently shocked at my flat tone.

Ever since rehab and my addiction being made common knowledge, gone forever was my happy-go-lucky behavior. Instead there was a serious young woman in her place, who had finished her senior year of high school by mail—well, online—over the summer. Now, at only fifteen years and eight months, I'd stated that I wanted to wait until my next birthday before beginning college classes. I was glad that my mother seemed fine with this, as I was researching which colleges I would be potentially matched with program-wise, applying for scholarships, writing various essays, and really considering a career-path for myself.

"So, sweetheart, how's the college hunt coming?" she asks, pouring herself a cup of tea and ruffling Livi's hair as Helena brought them into the kitchen and placed them in their highchairs.

"Fine," I reply. I dips her spoon back into the yogurt, taking a slow bite as I mull over my next words very carefully. "I've been thinking a lot about where I want to go and what I want to do and stuff."

"And stuff?" she asks. "What kind of stuff?" she says, bending down and kissing Donnie's head as she waits for my response. "Yeah, really buckling down," I continue. "I'm trying to think at what would be the best possible option for me... I suppose a therapist of some kind would be good, given my own demons may help me sympathize with my client..."

"Uh-huh," she replies.

"...and John Buchanan was so inspiring," I continue, staring off into space for a moment as I continues musing. "A lawyer in New York..."

"Also a good career choice," she encourages me, "and you have the kind of grades a law school would want..."

"But I really think..." I shake my head, convincing myself that it was a terrible idea. "Forget it. It's stupid."

"Nothing is stupid," my mother tells me firmly. "Come on. Tell me."

I scrape the bottom of my bowl, getting out the last bite of yogurt before getting to my feet. I rinse out my bowl and puts that and its spoon into the dishwasher before letting out a little sigh and turning back to her. I am wearing my favorite orange sweater with my favorite pair of high-waisted skinny jeans and a pair of chestnut-colored Uggs I'd insisted that she buy me over the summer. My orange sweater is one of those scoop-neck things that folds over onto itself, thus exposing the camisole I have beneath it. "I was thinking about starting college as soon as possible," I reply. "Classes don't start for about a week and a half and I could still get in..."

"Sweetheart, we agreed that you didn't have to..."

"No, Mom. Please. Just hear me out."

She smiles. "Of course, darling," she says, leaning back against the counter. "Go ahead. I want to hear."

"I've enrolled at Westchester Community College," I reply. "I want to get my Associate's Degree and then my Bachelor's Degree... And then I want to join the police academy."

She nearly drops her teacup—I'd been afraid of a reaction like that. "The police academy?"

"Yes." I nod. "I know what I want. I want to get my degrees and then my plan is to be accepted by twenty-one, if not earlier," I say quickly. "You always said that your degrees were beneficial on the job, right?"

She nods. "Yes. Of course, I knew other languages as well..."

"Well, I know English, French, and Spanish—and I'm learning Mandarin," I tell her quickly. "And you know that I know Swedish as well," I say, delicately, for that piece of information was gleaned from my interrogation by John Buchanan. "I _want_ to join the police academy, Mom. Dad—he always said I'd make a good cop."

"A beat cop?" she asks me, and I wonder if she thinks that this is all I'm good for, but I decide to continue to persuade her instead.

"No." I shake my head. "I want to be a detective of Special Victim's Unit, Mom, because _I_ was a special victim. I want to help those who were able to help me—I want to return the favor."

She shuts her eyes. "Which SVU?" she asks me, greatly daring.

"Manhattan," I reply, proudly.

She turns to Helena as her eyes snap open. "Please watch the twins while I have a word with my daughter," she says levelly, before setting her teacup aside and taking me by the arm and bringing me upstairs to my bedroom. "Edythe, I think it's great you want to be a cop, and work SVU—just please... Don't work Manhattan, I'm begging you..."

"Why?" I ask, shocked. "Olivia's your best friend..."

She sighs. "Yes, I know that, but..." She shakes her head at me; she is conflicted about something, I see that now. "You don't understand..."

I reach out and touch her arm. "I'll never understand if you refuse to explain it all to me," I say softly. "I've driven you to hell and back again, Mom—and you still love and are there for me. No matter what it is, I promise, I'll be here for you," I say, and I hope she does tell me—something, at least.

She nods, and a sudden realization clouds her beautiful face. "Okay. But don't you dare tell anyone—only Don knows about this, and your father."

"I promise," I reply, full of anticipation.

She reaches out then, gripping my hands. "Olivia is my birth mother," she tells me quietly. "Don thought that he was my birth father at one time—that's why we're so close—and he ran our blood after I was in an accident. The panels came back negative, but since Olivia's blood is in the system, it automatically came up as a match."

"How long have you known?" I whisper.

"A while," she replies, and I don't press for a time limit. "The point is, I don't want Olivia to know."

"Why not?" I ask, thinking this is crazy.

She sighs, conflicted all over again with informing someone of this deep, dark secret after so long. "Because, she's not an unintelligent woman, sweetheart. I've dropped quite a few hints these last several years, so she could very well know as we speak. But I don't want to put words into her mouth, nor do I want her to know because she made the choice to give me up and not seek contact with me. But, such is life. I guess I wasn't really meant to have parents, really..."

I purse my lips. "And what about your sister?"

She shakes her head at me. "We haven't spoken since I... Well, not for a very long time. Tell me, Edythe, why do you ask?"

I shrug. "I only know what you've told me—that she's a lawyer, is married with four kids, and lives in Dallas. I could go online at any time to find out information about her, but I don't—out of respect for you. No matter how much I may want to know about her, I won't do it if you don't want me to, and I respect that, Mom, really I do."

She reaches out and cups my cheek. "Stella would have loved you."

"That was her name? Stella?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes." She sighs a little then, contemplation clouding her vision as she considers her thought carefully, mulling it over before continuing, "Sweetheart, I think I'm going to go to Dallas..."

"Can I go with you?" I ask, hoping that the answer would be 'yes'.

"When do your classes start?" she asks her, knowing she must be diplomatic about this whole arrangement.

"Not for two weeks," I reply.

She nods. "Yes, you can come with me. I know Helena would need your help with the twins, but..."

"We're fine," Helena says from behind her, and she turns around. Helena is holding onto the twins' hands. "I know Sebastian has some vacation time coming up if you wouldn't mind him coming..."

I smile as my mother crosses the room and throw her arms around her. "Thank you," she replies, before telling me to pack as she must do so herself, booking our tickets and hotel room, space permitting.

After I went to my bedroom, after my mother told me what she'd be up to—and after she booked us on a red-eye flight, I got into a hot bath. Soaking in the water, my pale skin flushing red, my mind began to drift. I considered the possibly consequences of meeting my aunt for the first time—adopted aunt, but that was splitting hairs, of course—as my head lolled just above the surface of the water, its warmth enveloping me. Sure, something must've happened between her and my own mother for them to cease their relationship full-stop, but what, I wondered, could that possibly have been? Families fought all the time—what was so lost that this fight couldn't be solved? As I continued musing, I allowed my head to fall beneath the depths of the bath water.

"I have an idea," I says as we wait for our food to arrive.

My mother raises her eyebrows. "Yeah?"

We are sitting in the luxury hotel, Rosewood Mansion, in the heart of Dallas, and, after a brief period of awe of the impressive architecture, I'm fully prepared to get down to business. We're not here for the aquarium, nor are we here to see the site of JFK's assassination—no, we're here for something far different.

"Yeah," I reply, taking out my phone and Googling something, then clicking something, growing impatient as the person keeps me waiting. "Hello. I'm being represented by Mrs. Hendricks, and I was wondering when she would be in the office today?" I ask. "Oh, I see. Thank you very much. Listen, I know it's strictly unorthodox, but I have some sensitive paperwork that I must send her. Could you please give me her home address?" I ask, with the perfect amount of desperation to pull it off. "Oh, you won't find my name in there, dear. It's strictly off-the-books, if you know what I mean. Yes, yes, thank you," I say, dipping into my bag for a pad of paper and a pen and scrawling the information down. "Thank you. No, I don't need to leave my name with you, it's quite all right. I'll be sure there's a Christmas bonus in it for you, my dear. All right. Thank you. Take care," I say, hanging up and looking at my mother with raised eyebrows.

She looks around, mortified. "Edythe, I hope you can appreciate that if I weren't your mother, I would be forcing myself to arrest you right now..."

"Fine," I say, acting like I'm seriously going to crumple up the piece of paper in front of her. "I guess we _don't_ need Aunt Stella's information..."

"No!" my mother cries out, swiping it from me. "Although I do know someone who can help us further with this..." This time, she takes out her phone and dials an all-too-familiar phone number. "Hey, Fin, it's Maggie," she says.

"Fin?" I demand, and my mother ignores me.

"Yes, fine. In Dallas right now with Edythe." She laughs at something he says and she quickly becomes like the mother I used to know—the one before Dad died all those months ago. "No kidding... Listen, I need a favor." Relief floods her face at his quick response to her asking for a favor. "I need you to confirm a home address for me," she tells him. "Okay. 7545 Plum Field Lane, Dallas Texas," she says quickly. "I need to know the names of the people who live there."

I roll my eyes. "Detectives," I mutter, proceeding to count all the intricate shapes upon the edge of the table.

My mother nods at something Fin has said. "Yes. Thank you, Fin." She sighs at the next thing he says. "Stella is my older sister," she replies. "Thanks so much—I owe you one!" she says, hanging up.

We finish our breakfast before heading out of there and outside in the morning heat to the parking lot. We get into the rental car and she has me type in Stella's address into the GPS system as we head towards the highway. We get off at the proper exit and see many lavish mansions as we continue onward before turning on Plum Field Lane, things really _were_ bigger in Texas!

We finally find the proper one and park down the street, not wanting to call attention to ourselves as we exit the vehicle and make our way up to the house. Just as I can see she's about to chicken out, I promptly step forward and ring the doorbell. A chorus of bells goes off from inside and I almost jump back from the doorway in shock—too _Real Housewives_ , if you ask me... I knew then that those bells would haunt me for a thousand nightmares.

The door opens and we see a boy of about seven years old standing there—this must be my aunt's firstborn.

"Hello," my mother says to him. "What's your name?"

"Baxter Hendricks Jr.," he replies.

 _Yeah, that's a name_ , I think to myself.

"Hi, there," my mom says, kneeling. "I'm sure your mom and dad have talked to you about not talking to strangers, but it's okay to talk to me, I promise."

"Why?" he asks.

Promptly, Mom pulls out my police badge. "Because I work with the police," she replies. "I know it might be a scary job, but it's my job to keep kids like you safe from bad guys out there."

"Honey, who's there?" asks a melodious voice, and Mom promptly gets to her feet as Stella enters the foyer and stares at my mother with wide eyes.

"Hi," Mom says, lifting her hand to her.

"Hi," Aunt Stella replies. "Um, Bax, go finish your homework..."

"But Mom..."

"Please," Aunt Stella says, her voice firm but not mean as Baxter Jr. rolls his eyes and walks out of there. "Maggie..."

"Stella," Mom says, completely at a loss of what to say.

Her eyes drift over to me. "Hello."

"Hi," I say, putting out my hand. "Edythe—with a 'Y' and an 'E' not the E-D-I-T-H spelling. My birth mother was weird," I say, hoping that my laugh manages to break some of the ice.

"Birth mother?" Aunt Stella asks, her eyes sliding back to me. "She's not your...? I mean...?"

 _Careful there, Aunt Stella_ , I think to myself.

"No, she is," Mom replies quickly. "She's my oldest—she's fifteen. I adopted her about four years ago. I hear you have four."

"Yes, yeah. Baxter Jr., who you just met. Then we had our daughter Charley, and our younger boy Seymour and then our Baby Harper."

"Not a baby!" a little blonde cherub shouts from the opposite end of the hallway, a pout to her voice.

"Come in, please," Aunt Stella says, and Edythe and I find ourselves crossing the threshold and into the house.

" _Not_ a baby!" cries Harper, a little more indignantly this time as we all of us make our way towards her, her blue eyes indignant. "I's a big girl!" Her gaze turns to my mother then and the outrage disappears as quickly as it came. "Up!" she shouted then, throwing up her arms.

Mom bends down and pick up my newfound cousin, who looks pleased at her great height. "High as a pwincess!" she crows.

Mom nods. "Yes, princesses must be kept very high. Do you know why?"

"'Cause they woyal?" Harper asks. Mom tries and fails not to laugh. "Yes, that's right," she says, kissing her on the cheek.

"You're a natural," Aunt Stella tells her admiringly.

"Thank you," Mom says. "Other than Edythe, I have twins back at home—Livi and Donnie."

"With your husband?" Aunt Stella asks.

I turn away then, pretending to ogle the many photographs on the wall, but really, I do so to compose myself.

Mom sighs. "He died three months ago," comes her soft reply.

"Baxter!" Aunt Stella calls, and her husband enters the room, and I turn to look at him. "Take Harper and..." Aunt Stella begins.

"Maggie!" Uncle Baxter shouts, crossing over to Mom and kissing her on the cheek. "How the heck are you? And...?" He turns to look at me. "Hi. Baxter," he says, putting out his hand.

"Edythe, with a 'Y' and an 'E'," I reply. "Nice to meet you."

"Honey, please take Harper and Edythe to the playroom," Aunt Stella tells him quickly. "Girl talk—now."

"Understood." Uncle Baxter carefully takes Harper from Mom's arms and motions for me to follow as they all three slip from the room. "It's time for _you_ , you little monster, to take your nap," he declares to Harper as we walk upstairs.

"No!" Harper shouts. "No nap!"

Uncle Baxter laughs. "Yes nap—Mommy mentioned making cookies later, your favorite, and I know that she would be very disappointed if you couldn't have any later, sweetheart."

"Fine," Harper grumbled.

Uncle Baxter's phone vibrated then, and he switched Harper to the other arm so as he could answer it. "Damn, it's the office," he says, turning to me. "Could you put her down for her nap, please, Edythe?" he asks me. "Harper's rooms at the end of the hall, and I really have to take this."

I nod. "No problem," I reply. I take Harper easily and move to the cream-colored door at the end of the hall, opening the door and setting her down upon the edge of her bed. "Now, what do you usually do first before your nap?"

Harper grins—she believed that she was in charge. "Naptime clothes!" she shouted then, pointing to the wardrobe. "Sunny dwess—yellowy—with pink flowers!"

Nodding, I cross to the wardrobe and fetch it, easily getting Harper out of the lovely white blouse and pink stretchy pants she was wearing now. "Oh! You need a diaper change!" I say. I get her completely out of the clothes and take her across the room to the changing table, where I clean her up.

"You family?" she asks me.

I smile down at her. "Yes," I reply, using the sanitation cloth and cleaning her bottom expertly. "We're cousins." I commence cleaning her and sanitize my hands before getting her into a fresh diaper and getting her into her 'naptime clothes'. "I think that you, Princess Harper, would like a story?"

After I finish reading Harper a book, from one of the many on her shelf, I leave her bedroom and shut the door behind me. I spy a note hastily taped to the wall a few feet ahead of me, and make my way towards it. _Edythe—had to run out to the office for something. If you go to the landing, there's the second floor of the house, and you will see the kids' living room. We have T.V. with cable, a desktop computer, an Xbox, PS4, a Wii, and pretty much anything you can imagine. Feel free to go ahead in there. There is also a kitchenette beside the living room, where we keep all the snacks in the cupboards and the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want!_ – _Baxter_

Shrugging, I make my way down the hall; not exactly what I had in mind on vacation, but hey, it's always fun to watch mindless T.V. at someone else's house for some reason...

After flipping a few channels, I found an old black and white movie, and became lost in the love affair between lead stars Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. I'd read once that kisses in films in the 1940's were only permitted to be three seconds long—go figure! As I continued becoming lost in the plot, I heard heavy footfalls on the stairs and assumed that Baxter forgot something; what I didn't count on was a familiar voice calling my name.

"Edythe?" said the voice, and my heart nearly stopped. " _Notorious_ —that's a good movie, a real classic."

Turning, I saw my dad in the doorway, and I couldn't for the life of me fathom how I managed to get to my feet. "Daddy?" I whispered.

He smiled at me. Other than looking tired and a little beat-up, he was fine; and he was really _there_. "In the flesh, sweetheart."

"Daddy!" I cried out, closing the distance between us and throwing my arms around him as tightly as I could. "Daddy, are you real?" I cried out, breathless, as I tore myself partially away from him to get a good look at his face. "You're not Uncle Mason or something, are you?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm your father."

I feel my eyes filling with tears then. "We thought...everyone thought..."

He quickly wipes my eyes. "I know what people thought, sweetheart. And I'll tell you what happened when you're older..."

I shake my head at him. "I'll wait," I reply, throwing my arms around him again. "I have my daddy back."

"You do indeed," he says, kissing my head.

"Don't go again," I whisper to him, tightening my grip upon him then, almost as if I thought he'd disappear into thin air. "I don't think Mom or I could take what happened again. If it was half as painful for her as it was for me..." I shake my head. "Point of fact, we can't do it—not again."

He nods. "I understand." Then, pulling me back, he asks, "What's this I hear about you wanting to join the academy?"

Mom and Dad told me about the pregnancy almost as soon as we returned home and after the excitement had died down. I decided to surprise them one evening on the day they'd gone to Manhattan on what turned out to be Sargent Munch's pre-farewell party, as well as to get their ultrasound on the new baby. I just wanted that night and day to be perfect, so I rolled up my sleeves got to work. That evening, the pair of them found me on my own with the twins.

"Honey, what's going on?" Mom asked, stepping into the kitchen.

"Hey, Mom!" stepping forward and kissing my cheek. "Daddy!" I crowed, setting the bowl down and throwing my arms around him. "I just thought it'd be nice...the dinner, I mean. If it's too much..."

"What's all...?" Dad asked.

"Oh, I told Helena to go home early," I replied effortlessly with a smile. While the twins were absorbed in _The Princess and the Frog_ on my new iPad, I'd been on the family iPad making dinner and dessert, along with a salad.

My mother raised my eyebrows at this rather domestic scene, and took note of the roasting chicken and potatoes in the oven, as well as the Caesar salad—halfway prepared on the kitchen island—as well as the mixing bowl with what seemed to contain cake batter, which I was stirring.

Dad smiles and shakes his head. "Sweetheart, it's perfect." He sticks his finger impulsively into the bowl of batter.

"Daddy!" I admonished, lightly swiping him with my wooden spoon.

Dad chuckles. "Sorry—I just can't help myself. White cake is yours and my favorite."

I nodded, picking up the bowl again and continuing to mix the batter. "So, how did the doctor's appointment go today?"

"Well," Mom says, turning to Dad.

Dad puts an arm around her. "Tell her."

Mom turns back to me. "Honey, we're having a boy!"

I immediately put the mixing bowl back down and threw my arms around them both. "That's amazing! Two for two!"

Livi turns around then, a pucker betwixt her brows. "More babies?"

Donnie slumps in his seat. "Too many..."

Mom laughs and leans down and kisses both of their heads. "Helena gave them a bath?" she asks, taking note of the fresh scents of their heads.

I giggled and shook my head. "No. That was me."

"What about school?" Dad asks.

"Well, I'm only doing online this quarter—my classes are math and English. We have a special homework website for math and we have to turn in one essay a week on the topic of our choice in English."

"The math assignments are daily, I take it?" Mom asks.

I nod. "They are—Monday thru Friday, at least. But I do every assignment on Monday—so I have more time for my essay."

"So, you've finished your math for the week?" Dad asks.

I smile. "Yeah, Dad, I have. And I'm halfway done with the essay, which isn't due until Friday at midnight. I have two whole days to finish it."

Dad nods. "All right, then."

"Hold on," Mom says quickly. "What's your topic this week?"

"When women transferred from just being merely domestics in the households into equal partners in a marriage," I answer. "I was writing another couple of paragraphs before you came in. Would you like to hear some?"

"That would be lovely," Dad said.

I pour the cake batter into a cake pan, scraping the bowl and putting it and the wooden spoon into the sink, whereupon I turn on the hot water faucet and allow them to sit so as the batter doesn't become totally caked on. Then, I wash my hands and turns back to my iPad, and minimizes the cake recipe tab and opens a Word document tab.

"Okay, here we go... 'Suffice it to say that men were considered the main, acceptable breadwinners within American and British society for hundreds of years. It wasn't until the 1920's in America that women's rights were finally deemed 'important' by various government officials, who decided to give women a voice. While they were given a voice to some extent, it came at the price of having husbands who believed that their opinions should match their wives and vice versa. There are many documented cases of women who have suffered at the hands of their husbands for staying true to their conscience, yet not their partners'," I say, rather satisfied with myself.

Dad, who was on the edge of his seat, had his mouth hanging open. "Oh, my god, Edythe..."

"That was lovely, sweetheart," Mom tells me.

I smile, basking in our praise of me. "Thanks, guys. Oh! I've got to check the temperature of the chicken." I shut off her iPad and puts on a pair of oven mitts and takes out the meat thermometer from its drawer and opening the oven door. I pull out the chicken and potatoes, finding the fattest part upon the creature's breast and stabbing the thermometer into it, front and center. "Another twenty minutes on that, maybe," I say, swiftly removing the thermometer and shutting the door in a careful motion. I preheat the bottom oven to three-hundred and fifty degrees and wait for it to beep before slipping the cake inside.

"You're very efficient, darling," Mom tells me. I smile. "Thanks. Why don't you two go upstairs? You could take a shower and change into something more comfortable for dinner. I still have to get the table ready and carve the chicken. Then I have to arrange the potatoes and ice the cake and slice it accordingly. There's plenty of time."

I was walking down a New York sidewalk one night, just blocks from where I'd called for an Uber to pick me up. The sidewalk was slick with rain—what else can you expect for an early spring night? This was one of the first times that Mom and Dad had allowed me to venture into Manhattan by myself since becoming clean and sober. I was sixteen, and we were going shopping for cars in a few weeks, and I couldn't have been happier. I'd earned this—I was happy, healthy, and I would be graduating with my first college degree in almost no time at all.

As I walked down the slick sidewalk, I almost didn't hear the man behind me, and I just continued minding my own business, walking closer and closer to the pick-up destination. Just as I was about to turn the corner, I was grabbed from behind and shoved into a nearby alley; trash cans covered almost every imaginable space, and I was hauled to the back, where a small courtyard was, and there were plastic bags everywhere.

"Don't scream," said the man, his voice in my ear. "Keep quiet." He lays me down on my stomach and cuts away my pantyhose, shoving my skirt up. I begin to struggle and he inadvertently cuts my legs. "Don't," he tells me firmly. "If you lie on your stomach, you won't see me. Then, I won't have to use this," he says, putting the cool, bloodied edge of his knife to my throat, "to kill you. Just cooperate with me, okay?"

Shaking, he covers my mouth with his hand and uses his other hand to force my legs apart. He unzips his pants and enters me forcefully then, and I grip the bags in front of me, my knees giving out as tears course down my face. Shivering as he continues his assault, he shoves me down further, and I get a noseful of garbage in my face. Struggling, he finishes, groaning in my ear and sighing in a moment of pure and simple appreciation.

"Nice—not a virgin, but nice," he says softly in my ear. He takes his knife again and, causing me to scream against his hand, cuts into me, and then leaves me on that pile of garbage in the darkness of the alleyway. As soon as I hear him leave, I turn over, pulling my skirt down over my torn pantyhose, immediately taking out my phone and dialing a familiar number. My hands are shaking too much, however, and I cannot type. Getting to my feet, I run from the alley and call another Uber, who takes me directly to SVU. I walk inside there, shaking, but bypass Don's office entirely—it is Olivia who I want to talk to, desperately.

I don't see her at her desk, and immediately look around; there are many people in the squad room, but only one I want to talk to. Various phones ring, and I am left standing there, feeling utterly alone. Then, footsteps come behind me, and I turn around, looking up at Nick.

"Hey—you're Edythe?" he asks, then gets a good look at me. "Oh, my god... Are you okay?"

"I need...Olivia," I say, finding it remarkable that I am still able to speak. My assaulter had, in fact, cut into my throat, and I'd barely been able to give the Uber driver the address for the SVU squad.

"Yeah, sure," Nick says, putting an arm around me and leading me into the nicer of the two interrogation rooms.

"Nick?" Turning, I see Don, who looks appalled when he sees that it's me. "Nick, Edythe is family, practically."

"She wanted to talk to Liv..." Nick says.

"And she will, in my office," he says, managing to get me away from Nick. He brings me into his office, telling me to sit down and to wait. He leaves, and, on his return, tells me that Olivia is on her way. He brings me a hot chocolate, looking grave, as he sits opposite me and, when the door opens, he gets to his feet and leaves me alone with her—my grandmother.

Olivia sighs and crosses over to me—still not having seen me fully. "Edythe, if you've come to try to bury the hatchet on your mother's behalf..."

"Look at me!" I shout then, turning to look at her, and Olivia's eyes widen, and she realizes her mistake.

"Come on," she says, getting me to my feet and pulling me out the other door of Don's office—the one leading to the hallway. "We'll get you to the hospital, Edythe—why didn't you go there before...?"

"Because, I couldn't," I reply, hurrying to keep up. "Liv?"

"What?"

"Don't tell my mom or dad," I beg, and then my knees buckle and I see black. It is when I come to that I feel immense relief that Olivia is the only one sitting there. "I hope my parents aren't worried," I say, and she shakes her head.

She shakes her head. "I called in a few favors—Gina King, that friend of yours from your online class?"

I nod. "Yeah?" "Good family—she's agreed to say you're staying at her apartment tonight. Your parents were worried, but they're fine with it. Gina's background check was pulled and there was nothing—even under the alias database. Nothing to worry about; and besides, you're completely safe."

I nod. "I know that now."

"Good." Olivia crosses the room, taking out a notepad and a pen. "Do you think you could tell me what happened to you?"

"I was here, in Manhattan, tonight to see Gina. Our class has weekly online group discussions and Gina and I were in the same group. We met for coffee a few times outside of class and she was really cool. Tonight was my first time at her apartment —she's nineteen and is a trust fund kid, so she lives on her own."

"Okay," Olivia says.

"My curfew is ten thirty, so I gotta be outta the city by nine-fifteen," I tell her. "I had called an Uber driver, but wanted to walk a little bit, so I arranged for the driver to pick me up about three or four blocks from Gina's apartment. I walked for about three blocks—so I guess it was four because the guy was supposedly just around the corner—and heard someone behind me. He grabbed me from behind and forced me into an alleyway," I say, feeling my eyes beginning to warm with unshed tears.

"It's okay, Edythe, take your time," Olivia tells me.

"He told me to be quiet and not to look at him," I say quietly. "He said that if I didn't look at him, then he wouldn't have to use his knife to kill me..." I whisper, and touch where his blade had cut into my neck. "He told me to cooperate and I did, but I struggled a little..."

"Then what happened?" Olivia asks.

"I guess he decided to punish me, because he cut me, right here," I say, turning over and lifting the blanket. I'd remembered where the assailant had cut me, due to the pain I'd still felt there, and wondered what Olivia would do.

"Damn that nurse," Olivia whispered, looking at it, her eyes meeting mine. "She thought it was a tattoo..."

"What is it, really?" I whisper.

"Initials," Olivia replies. "WL." Then, as if grasping the enormity of it all, she whispers, "Oh, my god...not him. Not him again..."

"Again?!" I demand, covering myself.

She shakes her head and moves to leave. "Never mind..."

"Olivia Margaret Benson, you stop right there!" I cry out, and Olivia turns to look at me for a moment.

Regarding me, she sighs. "Edythe, I know you don't want to, but you'd really benefit from having your mother or father here..."

"No," I say firmly.

"Edythe..."

"The law says I don't need them here, and I don't—want them or need them here, ever. Don't you dare tell them."

Olivia sighs. "Edythe, I'm just suggesting that a family member would be beneficial to..."

"But I have a family member here!" I protest.

Olivia smiles. "I'm flattered that you think of me that way, Edythe, but you really should consider..."

"No, you don't get it!" I cry out, and put my head into my hands. "I really can't do this... I can't do this anymore."

Olivia crosses to me, putting a concerned hand upon my shoulder. "What is it, Edythe? What's wrong? What can't you do anymore?"

I raise my head, drawing my legs up beneath my chin. "You wouldn't understand it," I reply.

"Then help me," Olivia says, perching upon the edge of my bed. "Help me understand what you can't do anymore."

I raise my eyes to hers. "It's a secret."

She smiles in sympathy at me. "Well, I think it's okay to tell me, if it's your secret, too, of course..."

I sigh. "Part of it is, I guess..."

"Okay. Tell me."

I face her then. "A baby girl was born in New York, in July, 1985. She was born to a teenage mother, and she was named Margaret. The woman was just starting college and opted for a closed adoption to ensure that her daughter got the best life possible. The girl was adopted by a good family, by those standards, and the family later moved to Washington State. The girl was on vacation in New York in the early 2000's when she decided to become a police officer instead of an actress, which had been her lifelong dream..."

"Edythe..."

"No, let me finish," I reply. "She achieved her dream, and now she is the Captain of Homicide in Manhattan, New York. Now, things have come full circle—her daughter was raped, while her grandmother listens to this story."

Olivia's eyes widen then. "What are you telling me, Edythe?"

I bite my lip, raising my eyes to hers. "I'm telling you that my mother was the baby in that story—the baby you gave up. I'm the girl she adopted, making you my grandmother."

Olivia gets to her feet. "I think you're traumatized from the ordeal that William Lewis put you through," she says, almost as if she is assuring herself. "Some bed rest would be beneficial to you now..."

"William Lewis?!" I cry out. "From the news?! The one who kidnapped you?!" I cry out in fear.

Olivia nods. "Yes."

"Why did he choose me?"

Olivia shrugs. "Power. He probably thought you were an easy target. Get some sleep," she says, leaving the room before I can call her back.

I remain silent throughout the ordeal, returning home the next morning as if nothing untoward had happened. As I finished out the rest of the year online, I realized I was about two dozen credits away from graduating with my first college degree. Summer passed, and so did fall, and then it was Christmas again. Since I hadn't pressed it before, I was finally given a car for Christmas, and I couldn't have been happier with my 2014 red convertible Ford Focus Cabrio.

My seventeenth birthday came and went, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before my mother and Olivia spoke again. She'd been plagued with nightmares since Olivia's kidnapping at William Lewis's hands—whose DNA matched that of what had been found inside me—and the fact that she'd very nearly been one of his casualties. I could hear her screaming in the night, and my father comforting her, as well as Baby Mason, who was a toddler by this point, crying in fear.

I give my mother a quizzical look the following morning as I attempt to assess the situation. I had taken every psychology class I could get my hands on, and found I truly enjoyed it, but still had my heart set on being a cop.

Mom steps forward and kisses my forehead, and I still give her that look I'd been giving her before.

"You had a nightmare," I say softly.

"Mom, is Edythe being psychic again?" Livi asks.

"No fair! I wanted to asks that!" Donnie complains.

"Kids, come on, now," Mom says, admonishing the twins. "Your sister is just assessing my mind—no harm, no foul."

"Fowl! Like bird!" two-year-old Mason chimes in.

Mom chuckles. "Something like that," she replies.

"We should start him on homonym lessons," I say softly.

"Shh!" she says, trying not to laugh. "Okay. Well, I have to head out now. Nate may think that he's captain now," she jokes, leaving the kitchen and heading down to her car.

Helena came into the kitchen and took the twins and Mason out to her car; the twins were in kindergarten now, and Mason had a fifteen-hour-a-week playgroup he attended, and they'd be gone for a while. Once they all three had been dropped off, Helena spent her lunch hour with Sebastian, whereupon she'd pick up Mason from playgroup and go grocery shopping and then take him to the park. Then it was usually time to pick up the twins, and then she'd come home and organize their homework and snack and naptime. Then, she'd make dinner, and give them their baths, and put them to bed. The following morning, it was reverse/repeat, day in and day out.

I went into my bedroom alone; Dad had left for work an hour beforehand. With my assignments done for the week, I switched off the light in my bedroom and crawled back into my bed. Curling up into a fetal position, my eyes wetted automatically with tears, and I proceeded to sob into my pillow; it wasn't just the rape from William Lewis; it was all the rapes I'd been subjected to over the years—it all started with Jake, and now it ended with William. I had no idea what the rest of my life had in store for me, but I came to the conclusion that, even though I'd survived all of these terrible ordeals, nothing could be worse than subjected to heinous acts by men, several of whom had claimed to love you, before they'd used you in the most despicable ways one could ever imagine.


	3. Home Run

Chapter Three: Home Run

I remember the day that I met my mother; so long ago now, it seems. There I was, lying there as I was lying now, in a fetal position on my side on a stretcher. I recalled that it was a cool day, overcast, but I wore no winter coat—a testament of my mother's neglect of me.

"Hi, I'm Maggie," my mother had told gently. "What's your name?"

"Edythe," I said quietly. "With a 'Y', not an 'I'."

"Well, that's a very pretty name," she tells her. "How old are you?"

"Seven," I say.

"Wow, you're a very big girl," she tells me with a smile. "How are you doing?" I remembered that she took in my injuries, her face visibly contorting at what I'd looked like.

"Okay... My head hurts," I said quietly, reaching upwards to touch it.

"No, Edythe, you can't touch it," she tells me gently. "You could get an infection if you touch it—you wouldn't want that, would you?"

I nod, biting my lip, attempting to be brave. "Would you hold my hand, please?" I ask, tears welling in my silver eyes.

She nods, smiling at me. "Of course," she says, reaching out and taking my hand, a kind look in her eyes. "Better?" she asked.

I gave a tiny nod. "Yes."

She gave me an encouraging smile. "Good. We want you to be comfortable."

I lower my eyes. "My mommy was hurt," I say softly.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, Edythe, really..."

"She went through the windshield," I whispered. "Glass went everywhere... I got scared, so I crouched behind the seat... Glass is dangerous..."

She nodded down at me. "That's right. You could get serious cuts." She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Was your mommy driving the car?"

I shook my head. "Jake was driving," I reply.

"Who's Jake, then?" she asks.

I remembered the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I was asked about Jake directly. "Mommy's boyfriend," I'd replied, suddenly not making eye contact with her and picking the side of the canvas on the stretcher; there is a loose thread there, and I would do anything and everything to appear interested in it. "He does bad things..."

"What kind of bad things?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know..."

"Does he call you bad names?" she asked me.

I sighed, then say, "Yes."

She nodded. "What kind of bad names does he call you?"

"He calls me 'stupid'," I replied. "That's not nice, is it?" I ask, looking up at her in a moment of fear.

My mother shook her head. "No, sweetheart, that's not nice. Does Jake ever call you any other bad names?"

I sighed. "He called me a 'bitch' once," I say, whispering the offending word, almost as if she'll offend by me saying it. "That was before he slammed my head down on the floor."

She nearly pulled away from me in shock. "What did Mommy do when he did that?" she asked me.

"She laughed, said it was a game," I told her.

She bit her lip. "Is that all Jake ever did to you?"

I shake my head. "No."

"What else did he do?" I sighed. "He started putting his hand down there, back when it was close to Halloween. I tried to tell him that I'd tell Mommy, but he said that she wouldn't believe me. I got scared, so I stayed quiet."

"Is that all Jake did?" she managed to get out.

"No." I shake my head. "He took out his thingy once and told me that it would taste good if I put it in here," I said, pointing to my mouth. "Then when I wouldn't do it, he forced it in me, so I bite it. Blood went everywhere, and I got scared again. Then he took off my pants and put it inside me, between my legs, and it hurt... There was more blood too, and he got madder..."

"Was that the only time Jake hurt you like that?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "No."

"When did he start doing that?"

"Before Christmas, after Thanksgiving," I replied. "I know it was December because Mommy changed the calendar in my bedroom."

She nodded, processing the information. Then, she turned around, making eye contact with people I couldn't see, since I was lying down, before turning back around to face me. "I have to leave you now, Edythe," she says softly. "But some nice people are going to talk to you, okay?"

"No!" I'd screamed, pulling away from the doctors and throwing my arms around her as Olivia and Detective Stabler stepped closer.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asked in alarm as the two detectives come up behind her. "Are you okay?"

"He'll do it, like Jake," I said, nodding at Detective Stabler.

Olivia stepped in. "Well, why don't I sit with you while Maggie goes and talks to Elliot?" she asks, giving my mother an understanding smile.

"Olivia's really nice," my mother said, consolingly, me. "I promise."

"Is she your friend?" I asked, regarding Olivia warily.

"I... Well," she says, thrown.

"Yes. We are friends," Olivia assures me, shooting me a smile and going over to be with me. "Go on with Elliot," she says softly to my mother, and I watch as my mother slips away as Olivia asks me what my favorite color is.

I decide that I can't lie in bed all that day, so I force myself out of there at around ten-thirty. I go to take a shower and consider what to do, and decide to go to my mother's office and see if she'll go to lunch with me. A wonderful drive is just what I need to take my mind off things, I reason with myself as I return to my bedroom—having washing and blow-dried my hair—and go about selecting an outfit. I go with a white scoop-neck sweater, a black mini skirt, tights, ankle boots, and pick out a purse from my growing collection that my mother insists that any teenage girl should have.

I drive across town, the freeway not nearly as clogged now as it would be in six hours, and decide to do some shopping if my mother doesn't want to or can't have lunch with me, or I'll go shopping afterwards. I arrive in the city and park on the street, securing my car and feeding the meter for about three hours just in case I get into some heavy shopping that afternoon. The clock is ticking towards noon as I head up the steps of the homicide building, giving my name to the woman at the front desk, who gives me the 'okay' to go upstairs.

I greet the detectives and other officers that I know in my mother's squad before I cross the office and tap on her door.

"Come in!" I hear my mother call on the other side. "Edythe!" she said as I came in and quickly smiled at her. "What's going on?"

"I've come to take you to lunch—and no, I won't take no for an answer," I tell her in a firm voice, giving a cursory glance at the mountain of paperwork.

"Sounds great," she says, lowering her pen automatically and getting to her feet and gathering her coat before following me out.

"Where should we go?" I ask her as we step into the coolness of the afternoon and proceed to walk down the street.

"There's this Italian café close by," she suggests. "How about there?"

The heat picks up as we walk down the street, and, after ordering, we decide to eat our panini sandwiches outside.

"You look like a wreck," I tell my mother blithely, biting into my steak and cheddar panini. "What happened?"

She sighed. "Olivia came to see me today."

"When's the last time you saw her?" I ask. My mother lowered her chicken pesto panini onto her plate. "Over a year ago," she replies, regret filling her tone completely. "I went to family court that day to check on the Noah Porter case and the judge asked Olivia if she wanted to be his foster mother..."

"Yeah, I remember now," I say, smiling at her sympathetically. "Why did she want to see you today?"

She sighed. "She's going to be adopting Noah."

I nearly choke on my sandwich. "When?"

"Soon, I think. It wasn't a particularly long conversation."

I nod, taking another bite of her sandwich when I can breathe properly again and swallow. "And you're upset because you thought that she didn't want kids, which is why she put you up for adoption, and now you're feeling left out?"

"I understand her decision to put me up for adoption," my mother says. "It couldn't have been an easy choice for anyone—let alone a girl in college," she says in a moment of sympathy for her biological mother. "But, of course I'm upset. All I ever wanted was to be able to tell her the truth, but it's not that simple."

I purse my lips, wondering if Olivia would ever let on that I'd already told her this information. "What's not so simple? It's a secret you've held onto for four years—that's all it is."

"Four years?" my mother asks, laughing. "Sometimes I forget that I'm nearing thirty..."

"M- _om_! This is serious," I say, growing impatient. "Nobody is stopping you except yourself. Just tell her. I know it's killing you not to," I say, playing it off, almost as if I wasn't a guilty party here at all.

I remain in the city for the rest of the day, shopping and behaving like any normal seventeen-year-old sophomore in college would. I call Gina before dinner and we decide to hit a club later that night. I go over to her house, armed with all my purchases from that afternoon, and fish through the bags until I come upon the club dresses I'd picked out for the two of us. Mine was a silver sparkly number, totally strapless, and it came up about half an inch lower than my crotch. I could tell that Gina was thrown off due to my bold choice, and felt secure when I presented a black dress for her with spaghetti straps, about an inch above the knee.

I got into Gina's car and we drove up and down the Upper East Side, looking and looking for an under-twenty-one club. It was called Viola and we handed our keys to the valet, presenting our ID's to ensure we weren't of age and stepped inside. It was only eight o'clock, but the place was already hopping—there was a pumping beat on the dance floor, and you had to get a two-drink minimum at the bar which served virgin cocktails. I asked for a virgin Appletini while Gina opted for a virgin Pina Colada, while we sipped and looked at the dance floor.

By the time I was only my second drink—a virgin Cosmo to Gina's virgin Sex on the Beach—we were swaying to the beat. The club only played eighties music, so I knew practically every song that came on. Bowie, Madonna, Queen, Joan Jett—it was an eclectic mix that surged through my sober veins. Finally, after dancing for nearly an hour—all hyped up on the sugar in my drinks, I left Gina on the dance floor and checked my phone.

There was a missed call from Olivia, and I wondered what she could have wanted from me. I found a quiet corner of the back hallway—away from the line for the bathroom—and dialed her number. "Olivia?" I asked.

"Hey, Edythe. Where are you? I hear club music..."

"Thanks, Grandma, I'm fine," I say, annoyed that she was butting-in. "How are you doing?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says, "very funny. Other than the cat being out of the bag, Edythe, in all seriousness—are you at a bar right now?"

"No, I'm at Viola, and under-twenty-one club," I reply, growing hostile at her gall to interfere with my life. "And what do you mean, the cat's out of the bag? What are you talking about?"

"Your mother came here tonight and told me," Olivia replied levelly, "told me everything, as a matter of fact. Showed me the DNA results and everything, so I am your grandmother, Edythe—legally speaking."

I shuffle from foot to foot. "She's not going to tell anyone else, is she?" I ask her then, knowing my mother so well, including her inability to be a knowing homewrecker.

"That's right," Olivia replies. "We—well, she, really—told me that she wouldn't go running around and telling people about it. Things are going to stay as they are, Edythe."

"So, no calling you for favors?" I joke.

She laughs. "Very funny. Enjoy your time at the club," she says.

"Have fun with Noah," I reply, ending the call.

I get home later that evening and discover that my mother is not home yet, and my father is in the twilight reading. I go around the house where his favorite spot is and see that he is nose-deep in whatever book he's reading, although I'd be willing to bet that it is true crime. I see the three different baby monitors next to him and know full well that he's let Helena leave early again that night.

"Hey, Daddy!" I say, walking up to him and kissing him on the cheek.

He turns and looks at me. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, patting the chair next to him as he marks the place in his book. "Please tell me you kept the leather jacket on the entire time," he says, looking me up and down.

"Sorry, 'fraid not," I reply. "The club I was in got awfully stuffy and I had to take it off. Before you say anything, it was an under-twenty-one club and I only talked to guys who had green stamps."

"Green stamps?" Dad asks. "I don't understand."

"There's a color-coded stamp system," I reply, putting my feet up on the lawn chair and crossing my fingers that my feet wouldn't swell due to all the dancing I'd done in my new heels. "Green stamps mean you're sixteen through seventeen, and eighteen through twenty? That means you get a red stamp."

"Oh," my dad says. "Still lost."

"It's a way to prevent sexual assault," I reply innocently. "That way, girls can protect themselves."

"Sounds reasonable," Dad replies, looking over my bags. "Did you get anything that you could wear say, _out_ of a club?"

I laugh. "Of course, Daddy," I reply, "never fear. I also picked this out for you," I say, delving into one of the bags and producing a box. "Here."

Dad smiles and takes the lid off the box, his eyes widening at its contents. "Honey, this is beautiful!" he exclaims, taking out the golden pocket watch. "Where did you find this?"

"At a department store in Downtown Manhattan," I reply. "Do you like it, or I could always exchange it for something else. They had them in silver..."

Dad immediately shakes his head and pulls me into a hug. "No, honey, I love it—don't you dare exchange it, you hear me?"

I nod. "Sure, Daddy, fine..."

"Good." He pulls back and proceeds to tinker with it.

"Dad?" I ask him.

"Yeah, honey?"

"What do you think of tattoos?"

He shrugs. "If they have significant meaning to them..." He shrugs again. "Doesn't really matter to me..."

"Can I get one?"

"When you turn eighteen," he replies, shooting me a smile.

I excuse myself and head to my bedroom, taking off my new dress and putting it into the box full of clothes that need to be dry cleaned. Then I go into my en suite bathroom and take a shower, taking off my makeup as well before getting out of there. I put on a tank top and shorts, for it is still a warm night, when I suddenly get a text from my mother, letting me know that she is on her way home. She tells me that she has a surprise for me and not to tell her Dad, the twins, or Mason, but to come directly outside to meet her.

I immediately leave my bedroom, phone in hand, and make my way down the hallway before going down the front stairs. I get down them easily, walking to the front door and opening it quickly, easing outside before walking along the side of the house towards the garage. I am standing there waiting for her in the late afternoon sunlight as she pulls up. I watch as she exits her vehicle quickly after parking the car and I smile at her as she waves, ducking into the back, retrieving a puppy, handing the enthusiastic fluff ball over to me.

"M- _om_!" I squeal, taking the puppy immediately. "For me?!"

She nods. "All for you," she replies, taking a second pup out of the back.

"Wait... _You_ got a dog, too?!"

She laughs. "Well, yes. And besides, these two love each other—it would have been cruel to separate them."

"Do they have names?" I ask as the puppy snuggles into my arms.

"No," she replies. "You can name her yourself."

"It's a girl?" I ask.

Mom laughs. "Yes, and this is her sister."

"What's going on down here?" Dad asks, walking around the side of the house where he was reading. "Maggie. What's that?" he asks.

"These are the new members of the Grayson family," Mom replies effortlessly with a small laugh. "That's... Someone, I suppose, and this is...Seraphina," she says proudly. "What are you calling yours, honey?" she asks me.

"Arabella," I reply. "It sounds like some maiden somewhere..."

Mom laughs. "It certainly does," she replies, walking with me into the house, while Dad shakes his head—I know he'll warm to the idea eventually.

I continue working hard in my online college through the spring and, in the second week of June, I head to the campus proper for graduation. Most people don't recognize me, because I did all my work online, but I manage to find Gina—who will be standing close enough to me in the procession—before the ceremony. I look up in the stands and wonder who will be there for me on that sunny afternoon as I begin to take my steps towards being halfway done with my degrees to get into police academy.

I get the degree from the receiving line and shake the hand of the dean of the school before making my way back down to my assigned seat. Then there is the agony of waiting for the rest of the class to graduate, followed by some form of poetry slam and then there is some music and then we are permitted to go and find our families. I slip from my seat, meeting Gina beforehand and then we troop up some hill to meet everyone. We spot our families standing together almost immediately and make our way towards there. A series of cries of joys erupt from our mothers then, while our fathers simply look proud with small amounts of tears in their eyes.

There is talk of celebration and, since the kids are with Helena that evening, a local upscale steakhouse is suggested; it is called Sunset Villa Steakhouse, and we all get into our cars and head on over. Within the hour, we are all drowning in steaks and the adults are sipping beer and wine, while Gina opts for a soda and I opt for apple juice, which makes my mother flash me a smile. Mr. King, a high-profile lawyer who works with John Buchanan, turns to me in the lull between dinner and dessert.

"So, Miss Edythe, what are you going to do now?" he asks. "Gina mentioned you were going for your bachelor's?"

I nod. "Yes, Mr. King," I reply.

"Oh, sweetheart, call me Theo," he says.

"Well, Theo, yes, I am going for my bachelor's. I was thinking about getting a degree in psychology or something—it'll help me out in the long-run."

"Still want to be a detective?" Mrs. King asks, sipping her frou-frou white wine and looking at me curiously.

I nod. "Yes, and happily," I reply. "I figure once I have the degree, I can take the exam and try to get into police academy. Who knows? Maybe I'll raise the ranks as well as my mother did."

"That takes dedication and hard work, sweetheart," Dad put in.

"Your father's right, honey," Mom says. "You shouldn't do this because you think that people will automatically accept you because you're our daughter."

"Nor should you do this to please us," Dad says, taking Mom's hand. "You should do this because you want to be a detective."

"I _do_ want to be a detective," I reply, turning to Gina, sick and tired of all the attention focused on me. "Gina, how are the applications going?" I ask.

She smiles, willing to speak. "Well, I should know by next year where I'll be going to law school," she replies.

"I'll deliver on that internship with ADA Barba as soon as we get word where you'll be attending," Theo tells her. "Once you're a junior, you'll need to find a decent place to be a spring associate. Where else but the best of the best, at the top of his game?"

I lowered my eyes to the amber color of my apple juice, crossing my fingers that the next two years would pass as quickly as possible.

The summer flew by with a trip to Dallas with Mom to visit Aunt Stella, Uncle Baxter, Harper, and the rest of my cousins. While Aunt Stella and Uncle Baxter showed Mom the town, I was left to watch the kids, which I didn't altogether object to. They were lovely children, and they seemed very pleased to have someone as "mature" as I seemed. They all had to be in bed by nine and, since it was summer, I knew my aunt, uncle, and mother would probably be out late. It didn't matter to me—I had the entertainment room. It was on the floor of the house taken up also by my aunt and uncle's two offices, so it's not like I'd be bothering anyone if I turned up the T.V. a bit.

The two weeks we spent in Dallas were amazing, and yet, I was pleased to be going back to New York. I was all signed up for my psychology classes—on campus this time around—at Hudson University, where I'd applied last spring as a joke, really. However, just a week after graduation, I'd been accepted into their psychology program, and would get a minor in law. I'd decided to specialize in child psychology, which I thought would serve me well in my job of choice. I'd also managed to get my mother and father to up my spending money allowance so as I could get new clothes for the fall semester.

In the third week of August, my parents impulsively went to Russia, and I didn't think much of it, as I was so busy reading some of the textbooks I'd bought for the upcoming semester. Helena was working double-time, to afford this house she and Sebastian wanted to buy about twenty minutes away, but I always let her get back to their apartment after the twins were in bed, around eight. All the kids slept through the night by that time, and so I was free to continue to read all about law and psychology as late as I wanted.

It was in the first week of September, just days after Mom and Dad needed to return to work, when they arrived home late one night. Trying desperately to be quiet and failing, I rose from my place upon the living room couch where I'd been simultaneously watching some reality T.V. show and reading a psychology book and becoming convinced that all these housewives or whoever they were happened to be mentally ill in some way.

"Mom? Dad?" I called, and they came into the living room.

"Sweetheart!" Mom cried, stepped forward to embrace me.

"Mom?" I asked, my eyebrows raising. "Is that...?"

"Did she meet her yet?" Dad asked, coming into the room, suitcases in hand. "Is she awake?"

"Dad?" I asked, looking around Mom as he stepped closer. "Tell me, please. What is going on here?"

"As I'm sure you know," my mother begins, "there are two wars going on now in Russia, although reports say a third could start up in a few weeks. There are many children who need families..."

"Mom...? Dad...?" I ask, finding my eyebrows shooting up off the charts. "Exactly what are you attempting to tell me?"

"She's hiding," Mom told Dad softly. "She probably went to the bathroom." "Who...?" I ask, as I hear a faraway toilet flushing and the telltale sign of someone washing their hands. Then a door opens, soft footfalls echo in my ears, coming closer and closer, and into the living room. I find my eyes widening far beyond repair when a girl of perhaps nine years of age steps behind my mother, gripping her pant leg. She had large, deep brown eyes, and a shock of raven hair which curled at the ends and flowed down her back.

"Honey, this is Viktoriya," my mother tells me patiently, and spells it out for me and even I feel my shock at its spelling. "Viktoriya, this is Edythe," she tells her, and spells out my name for her, too. "I'm so happy the two of you can meet your new sister," Mom informs us proudly.

"Si-sister?" I ask, utterly shocked.

My father smiles, taking Viktoriya's hand and an arm around my mother, smiling proudly. "Yes. Isn't it wonderful? The adoption should go through in a matter of months. We're going to use the spare room upstairs for her room."

I nod. "Sure. Cool." I switch off the T.V. "Sounds great. If you'll excuse me, I need to finish some reading for school," I say, brushing past them. "Welcome home," I call back, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Viktoriya was quiet enough, and knew never to come into my room—not that she ever asked to do so. She was quiet and, above all, loved beautiful dresses. She began going to The Hackley School as I once had, and was in the fourth grade and doing quite well in her classes and academic work. I knew how much Livi resented not attending classes with her, but Livi was only five and still in the first grade with Donnie. Having achieved so much in his first year, Mason was accepted into the Elmwood Day School—which usually only took children aged two to six—so I knew Mom and Dad were very pleased to have all their children in school at the same time.

I vowed to complete the next two years on time, knowing that, once my next birthday happened—since I'd completed my probation obligations—my record would be formally wiped clean. Then, I would complete one last year, earn my bachelor's degree, and take the official exam for police academy. As Christmas loomed on the horizon, I found myself crossing my fingers for time to past faster than I ever thought possible.

Christmas came and I got new leather interior for my car, plus written permission from my parents for me to get a tattoo. I remember calling Gina right away and, the day after Christmas, made plans to get some ink done. Gina was already over eighteen, so she didn't need any permission whatsoever. We found a parlor in the dead center of Manhattan and, despite the snow everywhere, I permitted the artist to give me a permanent design.

I'd been told by the artist to wait five hours after the words had been carved along my back, and checked out Gina's Tweety Bird on her upper leg before I pulled my shirt back up. I got a quick cup of hot chocolate with her and we exchanged Christmas stories for a while before we went our separate ways for the day. I drove home along the snowy freeway, gently drumming my hands on the steering wheel as a pop song I knew came on the radio, gently humming and tapping out the beat as I drove home.

I had a wonderful birthday just three weeks later after the Christmas season had died down significantly. We went to The Trilogy Bistro—my uncle Milo's place—just me, Mom, Dad, and Gina, and of course Uncle Jay-Jay and Uncle Milo joined us, too. Their sons—twins, Christopher and Nicholas who had just been born via surrogate—were at home with their nanny that evening. The evening was going well, until Viktoriya was brought up, and then we spent the remainder of the evening talking all about her, much to my chagrin.

It wasn't just my birthday, either; once, when I was in the middle of my daily anecdote about school and how my teacher had told me that I'd answered a question incorrectly—even though he himself was correct—Viktoriya came into the room unannounced. She promptly took my mother by the hand and pulled her out of the kitchen, giving me a rather triumphant look as she did so, only to pull my mother into the living room to watch T.V. with her. I wondered then if it was against the law to throttle a child justifiably...

Finally, I'd received good news after the spring semester began—I could use my time in the group home as a very important project for my criminal law class! I was so excited that I drove just over the speed limit to get home, something I hadn't dared to do since my arrest. Once home, however, I found the house empty, with a note from my mother that she and Dad had taken all the kids out to a cabin we had rental access to in New Haven, Connecticut, near my rehab facility, and that it had been all Viktoriya's idea. I felt an amount of emptiness within me then, and decided to do something about it.

I went to my bedroom and got on my cell phone, quickly working in the numbers to call Gina. "Geen, hey, it's me."

"Yes, Mom, I got home okay," Gina says jokingly. "What's up?"

"Remember how that girl Melissa said she'd been your roommate but the whole thing fell through?"

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Well, how would you like me to be a roommate? I have a few hundred saved up and my parents always said they'd help pay my living expenses if I decided to ever leave home during college..."

"How much do you...?"

"Around nine hundred, give or take," I reply.

"Well, my parent's own the place," Gina tells me. "It was their first apartment when they moved here from Maine over twenty years ago. I wouldn't expect you to pay rent and nor should you—you're in school."

"Can I move in?" I ask her. "Today?"

"Well, it _is_ Friday," she stipulated. "What will your folks say?"

"Absolutely nothing," I reply. "I'm eighteen—and besides, they got a replacement for me months ago. They won't miss me. Look, I've already started my packing now—if I hurry, I can make it there before dark."

"No problem," Gina says. "Will you be bringing bedding?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Cool. I'll head across the street to the locksmith and get you a key made—what color do you want?"

"A dark green is fine," I reply. "And how do you feel about me possibly bringing Arabella along?"

"Awesome!" she cries out. "Finally—a dog!"

I laugh. "Will your parent's care?"

"She house trained?"

"Yes."

"Spayed?"

"Yes."

"Does she shed?"

"Not overtly, no."

"We have a housekeeper who comes once a week anyhow," Gina says, almost like it isn't an issue. "It's totally fine."

"Thank you," I reply.

"Okay," Gina says. "I'll fix up your room and get your key made. Let me know when you've left and when you're almost here, okay?"

"Sure," I tell her. "See you then."

I hang up my phone then and proceed to dismantle my bedroom, regretful that I won't be able to take some of my nicer pieces of furniture, but then I realize something: I wouldn't be allowed to take it anyway. My mother and father had made it perfectly clear which adopted daughter they preferred, and it certainly wasn't me. I continued gathering my things, loathing the fact that this lovely room would probably be Viktoriya's from the moment I stepped out the front door. I felt a lump in my throat as I finished packing, my entire luggage set put to good use in that moment.

I get everything down the stairs and by the front door, whereupon I make several trips to get it into the trunk and backseat of my car. I then head into the kitchen and scrawl a note down for my parents, knowing that Viktoriya would display it in a frame for all I cared. _You've made your choice_ , I wrote. _I'm leaving as of three-forty-five on Friday, March twenty-fifth. Have fun... –Edythe_

I then tape my platinum house key to the note and leave the kitchen, moving through the house and gather up Arabella and her things, clicking on her leash and leading her outside. Seraphina had been brought with everyone else, so it wasn't like they'd have to say goodbye to one another, thankfully. Taking one last look, I gather Arabella and one arm and her things in another, and say goodbye to living in the house in Westchester.


	4. Back in Action

Chapter Four: Back in Action

MAGGIE'S POV

I couldn't explain why I felt the need to constantly favor Viktoriya—it just happened that was. I suppose it was because she had such a traumatic start, with little to no attention, that I believed that she needed my constant devotion. As it was, I'd successfully driven away my Edythe, and that was just what Viktoriya seemed to want to happen.

Coming into the office on day, I mentioned it to Nate. Nate and Violette had just gotten the news that they were expecting their first child by Christmas and I didn't want to preoccupy them. However, Nate _was_ my second-in-command and I knew that, should I choose a different venture in the police department, I was going to hand-pick him for my successor.

"What's on your mind?" he asked me as we walked down the street during lunch, eating our wraps—his BLT, mine chicken Caesar.

"It's Edythe," I reply, wrapping up half of the wrap and storing it inside my purse for later.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked as we made it back onto our street.

I nod. "Yeah, actually—Viktoriya just managed to get Edythe to move out. She's living with her friend Gina in Midtown."

"How'd she do that? She's nine," Nate puts in.

I sigh and roll my eyes as we head inside; we flash our badges before getting into the elevator and pressing the correct button. "I don't know—something about the recent addition to the family is that she's got this entitled attitude, and it's only towards Edythe. Maybe she's under the impression that there's only room for only one adopted child—I don't know..."

"You said you got her from Russia?"

I nod. "Yeah, exactly..." I purse my lips as the elevator steps out. "Her file wasn't much help, however..."

"Maybe call George?" Nate asks. "I know he's not doing much work up here now, but maybe he has a decent recommendation for you."

I grin at him, clapping him on the back. "You always know just what to say, you know that?" I ask.

"That's why I'm your partner," he replies.

I flash him a continuous smile. "That would be correct. Thanks," I say, returning to my office to tackle yet another mountain of paperwork. It was a Friday in the third week of March, and I'd arranged to stay at the penthouse that night while Hunter returned to Westchester so as I could get some work done. I'd fully intended to work late for a while, and this was the closest day that it worked out for me; what with all the time I'd taken off on Hunter's and Edythe's behalf, plus the trip to Russia, I knew I was overdue for some overtime.

I finished my wrap by two and continued working; Nate and Violette took off around six that evening, while Melanie and Jimmy took off around an hour later. I looked from my office to see that Abi and Chester were now sitting together and doing some paperwork; they'd been tentatively dating for the last six months, and I was pleased to see that they were keeping their affection to a minimum within the office—professionalism was always, _always_ key in this line of work. There was no way in hell I was going to get another call from Ed Tucker in regards to something of that nature.

As I sat there, eye-deep in paperwork, I remembered something that struck me; a situation that happened four years previously, one from which I initially believed I would never recover from...

It had been on a night like this, where I'd been working late, and before Edythe had gone to Paris on that class trip with her friends. Eye-deep in paperwork as always, I was confident that Helena had the twins asleep, as this was before Mason was born. That was when I'd received a rather unexpected phone call.

"Manhattan Homicide, Captain Grayson," I said.

"Maggie! It's you! Thank god you're still there!"

"Amanda?" I asked, shocked to receive a call from Amanda Rollins; I hadn't known her for very long at that point—less than a year—and I had no idea why she was calling me. "What's up?"

"Fin's son Ken... Well, Ken's fiancé, Alejandro was abducted and beaten by a gang," Amanda said breathlessly into the phone.

Immediately, I get to my feet; flashbacks on Fin protecting me undercover came into my mind's eye. "Where are you?" I ask slowly.

"Mercy Hospital," Amanda tells me.

"I'm on my way," I reply, hanging up.

I grab my coat, hat, cell phone, and all my other imperative things before heading out of my office. I run past my other detectives and such, not wanting to stop and make conversation as I make my way out into the hallway. I press the button of the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as it takes forever to get there. Finally, it dings—announcing its arrival—and I clamor into it, pressing the garage-floor button. Upon arrival, I run out into the parking garage and get into my car, sticking the key into the ignition and turning it, pressing onto the gas and barreling out of there as fast as possible, hooking up my Bluetooth and ordering my phone to call Hunter as quickly as possible. "Listen, I know you probably didn't pick up because you hate me right now, but please listen," I said desperately into the phone, after it had rung twice and gone straight to voicemail. "Fin's future son-in-law was abducted by a gang tonight and beaten—Amanda said it was badly." I make a turn and slam on my brakes, deeply cursing the invention of the red light. "I'm on my way to Mercy Hospital now. I know you don't owe me any favors, but please, please, get IAB and Tucker to look in on this gang. Thanks. Talk to you," I said, pressing the 'end call' button as the light turned green.

I soon made it to Mercy Hospital, showing my badge so that the doctors and nurses and orderlies wouldn't bother me. I found the waiting room without an issue, just as who I assumed was Ken took off from there and down the hall. Stepping in, I saw that Fin was sitting by himself, and wondered if they'd deliberately put him back here for a reason. _Cop perks_ , I reasoned with myself as I stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Fin."

He looked up and immediately got to his feet. "Maggie," he said, embracing me warmly. "Thanks for coming."

"Amanda called me," I replied.

"She tell you?"

"She gave me this gist of it," I say. "Just tell me the truth here, Fin—did they attack Alejandro because of his race or his sexuality?"

"We're still investigating, but we assume it's both," Fin replies.

"As if the world weren't screwed up enough," I said, shaking my head and rubbing my temples. "God, I'm sorry. This whole thing is just so..." I turn and look at the doorway, which continues to stand empty. "What happened with Ken? I saw him take off in the other direction..."

"Ken just needed to cool off," Fin replies, motioning for me to sit down, and I take him up on the offer. "We got into a fight."

"A fight?"

"It's nothing," he assures me.

"Fin. Come on. It's me. My ass may not be as boney as Munch's, but come on—you know me. You can tell me anything."

"You wouldn't understand..."

"What wouldn't I understand?" I ask him.

"Things like this..." Fin sighs. "I like to keep my private life private, Maggie—you understand that. Some things just aren't appropriate discussion."

"Fin..."

"Maggie, enough."

"No, Fin. It's not..."

"I said, 'Enough!'" he yelled, his eyes blazing. "Secrets take ahold of you and gnaw away at you until there's a piece of you missing... I can't tell you. I couldn't put you through that. Not you."

"I've put myself through that," I reply, slow and steady, "every goddamn day of my life. And you know why? Because, I have one secret that can't ever be told, and yet, everyone seems to know about it."

"Maggie, you don't have to..."

"No, Fin," I say, shutting my eyes as I feel the hot tears escaping my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. "Just... Just let me talk." Slowly, I open my eyes, and I see that I have his full attention.

"Maggie?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is the fact that I found out who my birth mother is and I know full well that she won't want me."

"Maggie, you can't know that..."

"I do," I reply, getting the tears out of my eyes, "I do, and you know why? Because you know it, too. It's Olivia."

"What's Olivia?"

"She's my birth mother," I reply, "and that's why we all know why she wouldn't want to know—she's so independent... So, don't tell me that you can't burden me with a secret, Odafin Tutuola, because I know damn well what a secret can do to you," I say, turning and walking out of there.

I remembered that night as if it was yesterday, and still wondered why Fin had kept the secret for as long as he did. Lowering my eyes to the paperwork, I set a now-completed pile aside and looked through my files. Finally, finding what I was looking for, I keyed in the number to my cell phone.

"George?"

"Hey, Maggie!" he said. "Long time no talk. But, I take it that this isn't a social call, is it?"

I sigh. "No, George, I'm afraid not. I'm actually calling to ask you if you knew of a decent child therapist up here."

"Having problems with the kids?"

"Well, yeah, actually. Hunter and I are in the process of adopting a girl from Russia, Viktoriya—she's nine."

"Congratulations," George replied. "She not adjusting as well as you hoped, then, I take it?"

"No, she's not," I tell him. "She's successfully managed to drive Edythe away from the house."

"Drive her away? Why? Is she out all the time?"

"No," I reply. "Edythe left. She's living in Midtown with a friend of hers now and going to school..."

"Well, I do have a name for you."

I quickly grab a pad of paper and a pen. "Ready," I say.

"Delaney O'Connor," he replies. "Her address is the Upper East Side."

"Got it," I say.

"You'll find her, no problem—she's got a real classy website. She and I went to med school together. Lovely, lovely woman."

"Thank you, George."

"You're very welcome," he replies.

EDYTHE'S POV

Apart from a phone call once a week, my family didn't seem too terribly concerned that I'd moved out just weeks after my eighteenth birthday. I finished the spring semester and was surprised to receive a phone call from my aunt, telling me to come and stay with them for a few weeks that summer. I agreed, and took a flight down to Dallas within hours after my last final exam. The flight was quick, and I got a car from the airport to take me to their place. I was welcomed with open arms and was pleased to be among family after a long period of absence.

It was when a close friend of my aunts wasn't doing well—she said this woman was the godmother of my cousins—that she decided to make the two-hour drive to Wichita Falls to go and see her. She took the kids with her, and they left me there on my own; Baxter was involved in a case and was at the office, so I was in the house on my own. Around three o'clock that afternoon, I went into the kitchen and decided to throw something together for dinner, so as Baxter wouldn't have to do it later that night after a long day.

I breaded two chicken breasts and made a béchamel sauce, pairing it with what my uncle Milo called curly-Q pasta, and adding more cheese to the pasta and cheese mix to make an appropriately delicious crust. By the time six o'clock rolled around, I had the chicken in the first oven, the mac and cheese in the second, and brownies baking in the third. I'd noticed an unopened tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer, and decided to pair the meal with some red wine.

Baxter and Stella knew about my past with alcohol, but had closely monitored me with some upon my arrival, and I found I was not jumping up and down to have it like I used to. I found myself turning into a wine connoisseur, and loved to spend a few moments of some long days considering the vast amounts of pairings that could be created with it. I set the small nook in the kitchen—a circular one with embroidered cushions upon the wood—and set down placemats, napkins, and silverware. I decided against candles, because I was eighteen-years-old and, for one thing, I didn't want my gorgeous uncle to think that I was after him.

At six-fifteen, I took everything out of the oven and proceeded to put it upon two plates and at six-thirty, Baxter walked in the door. I heard the telltale sound of him sniffing, and he came into the kitchen and his eyes widened. He was terribly sweet yet he didn't know what to make of this.

"Hi," I said, turning around to face him after I'd put the plates on the table. "I hope you don't mind—Stella took the kids to Sophie Matthews's house and I thought you might be hungry..."

"You're a sweetheart," Baxter said, setting down his briefcase and embracing me as he turned to look at the table. "Wine, too? How nice."

"Doesn't the man of the house deserve a half a glass of wine with his dinner after a long day?" I ask, offering it to him.

Baxter sips it. "Mmm. Is this a Cab or a Merlot?"

"Pinot Noir," I reply.

He laughs and shakes his head, enjoying it. "Look at me—I never was one for knowing what wine is."

"More of a beer man?" I ask him casually.

"I don't know. I mean, now and again, I'll enjoy a beer but hardly ever in front of the kids..."

I nod. "Well, why don't you sit down?" I ask him, sitting and he does the same. "I hope you don't fill up too much—I baked some brownies, too."

"Do you frost yours?" Baxter asks, putting his napkin in his lap.

I shake my head. "No, but I do fill them."

"With what? Chocolate chips?"

I laugh, setting my napkin in my own lap. "No. M & M's."

Baxter grins. "That's amazing! That's my favorite dessert."

I quickly raise my wine glass. "Methinks we're family," I say.

He smiles and clinks his glass with mine. "Cheers," he says, "and thank you so much for dinner."

"No problem," I reply.

Baxter insists upon doing the dishes and I head into the family room upstairs soon thereafter. He joins me after a time, working on the desktop computer and telling me that whatever show I'm watching doesn't bother him. I switch it off around ten and tell him that I'm going to shower and then head to bed, and he says goodnight to me, and I give him a small wave before heading to my borrowed bedroom. It is in the guest wing, and it is quite like a suite in that it has the main, large bedroom, a walk-in closet, and a lovely master bathroom.

I take my robe into the bathroom and turn on the shower as I strip down, the steam filling the bathroom and creating a lovely mist. I find that the excellent water pressure proceeds to take out the knots that formed in my shoulders from cooking and am ever-grateful for their shower head being put to good use. After my shower, I return to my bedroom and change into a T-shirt and shorts to sleep in and check my phone, ignoring the new family photo my mother had sent me and looking at the group text from Stella.

 _So sorry to do this but Sophie needs some care for a few days. Keeping the kids with me and her kids' nanny is going to take them on all kinds of supervised trips while I keep Sophie company and care for her. See you all soon_!

On a separate message, just for me, Stella said, _I've asked Baxter to take you to some movies and some dinners out and whatever you may like to do. We have a car for our nanny which she obviously won't be using, so if you want to go shopping or something, you're more than welcome to use it! I love you both and I will see the both of you in just a few days! Kisses!_

The following day was Friday, so I decided to take the nanny's car out; first, I filled it with gas before going to the mall and picking out some summery dresses due to the heat and because Baxter seemed like the kind of guy who liked going out for dinner and I knew I should probably look presentable. I went to one of the three main local malls and perused the various stores—I even found a little black dress that was just to die for, and even picked up some black lace lingerie to go with it. I knew I was potentially playing with fire, but I didn't care. I wanted to feel pretty and sexy, and to emote such feelings onto Baxter.

That evening, I'd showered and was ready to go after a text from my adoptive-uncle-by-marriage that he wanted to take me to dinner. He gave me a name—it was Bugatti's—and I was told to dress "appropriately", whatever that meant. I put on the new black dress after cutting out the tags and washing it—as well as myself —and stared at myself in the mirror. I put on my black, patent-leather, peep-toe heels and spritzed some vanilla-scented perfume onto me. I curl my hair so as it falls like a dark wave down my back and put on my new necklace—a platinum string which dangles a lone, circular black pearl surrounded by a teardrop shape of diamonds. Baxter returns home soon thereafter to collect me, after I've mercifully put on some makeup, and his jaw drops at the sight of me.

"You look beautiful," he tells me with a smile.

I flash him a smile. "Thank you," I reply. "Shall we go?"

Baxter holds out his arm and walks with me outside the mansion and takes me in his car, turning up the air conditioning full blast. We drive into the center of town and soon arrive at the restaurant, where he parks and walks around the side of the car to let me out like a proper gentleman. He leads me into the restaurant and we are greeted by a kind hostess who brings us to a table by the window. A waiter is prompt and arrives quickly, and greets Baxter by name.

"No Stella tonight?" he asks, looking at me suspiciously.

"Sergio, this is my niece—Stella's sister's daughter, Edythe. Edythe, this is Sergio, an old friend."

Sergio immediately smiles at me, at ease. "Sergio O'Malley—how do you do, Edythe? Do you like Italian food?"

"Love it," I reply. "It's my favorite, actually."

"Do you have a favorite dish?" he asks.

"Chicken parmesan," I confess then, blushing, "same as my mother."

"Well, you're in luck," Sergio puts in. "Our chef makes it, and it's the best in Texas, I swear."

"Hey! Best in the Southern United States," Baxter says. Sergio laughs; he is wearing the traditional black waiter apron, along with black slacks, a formal white shirt, and a red vest. It is completed with a golden nametag, with the name SERGIO stamped firmly upon it in black lettering. "I'll tell the chef you're here," he says. "Would the two of you like some calamari for the table?" he asks.

"That would be simply divine, Sergio," I put in.

"Wonderful," he says. "I'll leave you two to order."

I order a Caesar salad, the chicken parmesan, and the chocolate mousse for dessert, while Baxter gets the minestrone soup, the filet mignon, and tiramisu for dessert. I allow him to lead the conversation and I am shocked when red wine is poured for me, yet I don't say anything, sipping it casually throughout dinner. After dessert comes and goes, Baxter snags the check and pays for it quickly, then takes me by the arm and leads me back out to his car—a 2015 black Cadillac CTS.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" he asks as we make our way across town.

"Of course," I reply. "Thank you."

"I'm glad," Baxter says, like he means it.

"Have you known Sophie long?" I ask him casually. "I know she's the kids' godmother..."

Baxter nods. "Yeah, me and her husband Jasper went to law school together. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but before your mom went to police academy in Seattle, she and Jasper dated."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really makes you realize how small the world really is," I put in.

Baxter chuckles lightly. "Yeah, it really does..."

"This may be none of my business, but where is Jasper? You would think that if his wife is so sick, then he'd be there..."

"Oh. That. He's this big wig at his firm and he's always loaned out to other firms across the globe because he speaks so many languages. He's in China right now and, long story short, is representing a big corporation in a sexual harassment lawsuit. Obviously, I can't say who he's representing, but he's trying to get them to settle and they're not cooperating."

"And all that information is privileged and I shouldn't talk about it at any given time, right?" I ask him.

He chuckles. "Right. You catch on fast."

I peer at him innocently. "Well, I'm a fast learner. I almost have my bachelor's degree and hey, I'm just eighteen." I stress that final word just a bit, so as he would know that he wouldn't get into trouble for taking advantage of that.

Baxter clears his throat and focuses on driving. We get back to the house and he doesn't let me out, instead walking up to the steps and waiting for me. I don't take it personally, knowing full well that he is probably conflicted about all of this so I decide to take it slow. I follow him inside and say goodnight, giving him a sweet smile before turning quickly, so as he will smell my perfume and—if he's interested—will be left wanting more. I head down the hallway and up the stairs to the guest wing, heading into my room and leaving the door open a crack, getting out of my heels. Next, I take off my necklace and set it down on the vanity table, counting mentally in my head, until I hear a knock at the door.

I deliberately unzip the back of my dress hastily, draping it across the chair at the vanity and crossing the room, opening the door wide and pretending to be shocked at Baxter seeing me, even though we're the only ones in the house. "Are you all right?" I ask him.

He takes one look at me and is hit with a bolt of desire—I can see it in his eyes. He steps forward, gently contacting my fingers as they rest upon the frame of the door, taking me in fully, and shuddering at the sight of me in my lingerie. "I'm sorry... I know we shouldn't but I..."

"What?" I ask him when he hesitates.

He sighs. "This may sound totally cliché, but Stella didn't leave to go see Sophie—she went to go see Jasper."

I raise my eyebrows, utterly confused. "I don't understand. You said that Jasper was in China..."

"I lied," he says, cutting across my words. "Sophie's in China—we're all lawyers here, that's how we know each other."

"So, you're saying that Stella and Jasper are...?"

"Having an affair, yes," Baxter says.

"How long has this been...?"

"Since just after Harper was born—they're all mine, the kids. But after Harper was born, she couldn't make love to me at all. Then she told me that Jasper was helping her get through her grief and I believed her but then I discovered the affair. I told her that I didn't care, if I was afforded the same treatment..."

"She gets to sleep with Jasper, and you get to sleep with whoever you want as a result?" I ask him.

"Yes." He steps forward, and looks reluctant to speak further, and almost seems to force himself to do so. "I'll always care for Stella, but there's no love there, not anymore. She killed it," he whispers, reaching out and grabbing me by my waist and pulling me towards him, so as our bodies are melded together. "I don't care how weird it is—we aren't related, only by marriage, and you were adopted. Plus, you're eighteen and, if I'm not mistaken, you've been flirting with me all night, now haven't you?"

I feel a delicious giggle erupting through me; this man in his forties was coming onto me, someone who just so happened to be a very convincing dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey. It felt so, so wrong, but there was a form of forbidden desire here, which made it even more tempting. I'd never been with a married man before, and it was always something I'd thought about, especially during my rebellious teen years, and ever since I'd met this guy, my technical uncle. "You'd be right," I whisper.

Baxter chuckles. "I love being right," he says, and our lips meet. He shuts the door behind us and lifts me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

 _This is wrong_ , I immediately think, _and so unhealthy_... But I didn't care—I hadn't had sex in over three years and I needed this. Besides, it was only a marriage down on paper now, right? And I was over eighteen, so it wasn't like we were breaking any governmental laws, just moral ones.

I let go of him and fall back onto the bed, giggling, as he proceeds to undress. I feel myself growing hot all over—he's got the body of a god, of Christian Grey! It is another wave of deliciousness that runs through me then—damn, this guy really did hit the gym three times a week after work, plus, they had a home gym in the basement off the garage as well. He leans down and takes off my bra and matching panties, his eyes wandering over me, right down to the area in between my thighs, and I feel myself becoming excited as he looks on me.

"Do you have...?" I ask him.

He smiles, reaching into his pants' pocket and removing the all-too-familiar shape of a square, unwrapping it and putting it on himself. "Will I hurt you...?"

I shake my head. "No, I've...done it before."

He nods, and I notice then that he feels relief that he won't have the burden of taking my virginity from me. He takes me gently by the hips and enters me then, and I feel my eyes roll back in my head. It feels amazing—never had I fit together with a man like this...

In the lull after the fact, I am facing away from him, and he is playing with my hair, when suddenly he lifts it up.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," he says quietly.

I bite my lip—sore from my biting and his kissing—and suppress a giggle. "I didn't know you were so good in bed," I put in.

He chuckles. "It's Latin..."

I nod. "Yeah," I tell him. "I don't know what it means," I lie, shifting so as I am facing him again. I run my fingers across his abs, and he shudders with desire at my touch. "Do you maybe want to...?"

"Yes," he says, no-nonsense, and takes me by the hips again.

Baxter and I shared the guest bedroom until the day I left—thankfully, I left before Stella returned home; I don't think I would've been able to face her. Baxter told me on the way to the airport, with his hand on my leg the whole time, that he was in no hurry for this to end. I gave him my address in Midtown and told him to come whenever he could get away. He had a business trip there the following month and would be sure to text me the dates.

He parked in the dimly-lit parking garage of the airport, where we made out for several minutes before I finally forced myself away from him, so as not to miss my flight. I allowed him to walk me into the airport, and I immediately began to become fidgety when he was due to leave me at airport security. I looked up at him longingly, and he gave me a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss.

"Soon," he whispered to me, smiling. "Don't worry—Stella's booked up for the next several months with cases. She won't even miss me."

"I hope not," I whisper back, lacing my fingers through his. I bite my bottom lip then, looking up at him. "Be sure to tell me as soon as possible when you're going to come."

"Anxious to see me?" he asks.

"Well, that and..." I stand on my toes and whisper in his ear, "I'll want to be able to get some decent lingerie."

My lover shivered then as my cool breath contacted his neck. "I loved what you wore before?"

"The lace?" I asked.

"The black," he replies. "The contrast to your skin was incredible."

I chuckle then. "Well, I'll remember that," I say, checking my watch. "Time for me to get into the security line."

Baxter looks around warily before pulling me in and kissing me. "I'll miss you," he says quietly to me.

I smile at him. "I know," I reply.

I manage to get through security and go to a coffee bar to get something to cool me down or to mellow me out. The wait time for my plane isn't too terribly long either, and soon I am in the first-class section, and in the window seat I'd pre-booked over a week ago. I looked outside, and gave a final look to Dallas before we took off, relieved to be going home, but knew full well that I'd be physically lost without Baxter. Crossing my fingers that the semester would start quickly, I didn't want to be too emotionally withdrawn when it came to surviving in New York without him.

The fall semester began soon thereafter, at the end of September; there were only three more quarters until Gina and I graduated, and I knew she and I had begun to count the remaining days. This was not the only thing I was looking forward to; it was one week after school resumed that Baxter came to New York for business and Gina—who remembered everyone's name—immediately knew that Baxter and I were sleeping together.

"Does she know about us?" Baxter asked me one weekend while Gina had gone to see her parents.

I nod. "Yeah, she suspects, at the very least."

Baxter nods. "I see."

"She knows you're my uncle..."

"By marriage and adoption," he puts in quickly. "And besides, you're over eighteen, Edythe."

"Yes, but adultery is a misdemeanor in New York, Baxter," I put in. "I'm applying for police academy in a year."

"I thought you said your record was wiped clean on your last birthday," Baxter says curiously.

"It was," I say. "But I don't want any other potential stains on it. I want to be a cop, Baxter—desperately." I turn to face him. "I don't want to jeopardize my career..."

Baxter sighs. "All right." He proceeds to move to get up.

"No." I force him back down. "That's not what I meant—really. I just want us to be careful, that's all."

He smiles a little sadly. "We'll stop this whenever you want to, you know," he tells me. "I'm not as young as I used to be..."

"Stop it."

"No, seriously. You may want to get married and have kids someday..."

"And that's not something you would want?" I ask him. "With me?"

He smiles. "I can't leave Stella or the kids. And besides, I've been married—I am married—and I've had my kids."

"You're finished with that chapter, huh?"

He leans in and kisses me. "I'm afraid so."

I lie down, running my fingers along his abs again—I so loved how they rippled beneath my touch, and how strong his arms felt around me. I always felt safe in his arms, even though I was betraying so many people by doing this, by having an attraction to him, by having an attraction to a man I could never have, a man that I had no business wanting in the first place. Despite the age difference, he was my family, and I knew that I needed to call it quits at some point, but now, I was just content to lie in his arms and feel the illusion of love.

"Open it," Gina told me.

I sighed; we were exactly three hours away from graduating college with our BA's in what we'd chosen, and now, I held the letter that would make or break my decision-making. I'd told my parents—who I'd been talking with again on a more regular basis—that, if for some reason I didn't get accepted into the police academy training program, that I would remain in college, get my MA in child psychology or criminal law, and then start looking for a job in either one of those just-as-worthy fields.

"Fine," I say, and rip the sucker open. "Oh..."

"What?" Gina asks.

I raise my eyes to hers, and feel the grin breaking out onto my face as I hastily turn back to my letter. "' _Dear Miss Edythe Grayson, we are pleased to inform you that you have passed the preliminary exam, the background check, the IQ test, and the physical. As such, we are prepared to welcome you to your classes at NYPD Police Academy, starting in the first week of July, with the mandatory, eight-week training course. Once completed, and if passed, you will begin formally in the first week of September, in your training to be an NYPD Police Officer. We have noticed that you are about to graduate with degrees in child psychology and criminal law, and we believe both those degrees will help you in the long run. Sincerely yours and best of luck, Chief Barry Feinstein_ ' _._ "

"You got in?" Gina whispers.

I look up at her. "I got in," I whisper back. "I got in!" I scream, throwing my arms around her. "All this, in the wake of your internship with ADA Rafael Barba, and our graduation..."

"Thinks keep coming up roses," Gina says gleefully.

"Yes, they do, don't they?"


	5. Need You, Baby

Chapter Five: Need You, Baby

Gina and I are permitted to walk together in the procession leading up to the stage where we will receive our degrees. That year, we had yet another millionaire giving the guest speech to our graduating class, and I immediately didn't care at all that some would-be pretty boy, rich kid. After all, with daddy's money, all he could possibly talk about was his privileged upbringing and how he'd managed to rise above to make his own money. Gina and I took our seats together, up on stage, as the pair of us were co-valedictorians, and got a good look at this guy.

His name was Lincoln Beckett, and he had an air about him that made me catch my breath. Deliberately doing my best not to look at him—which was difficult because Gina and I were obligated to thank him in our speech, and to shake his hand after we'd received our diplomas—I did my best to mentally go over my speech in my mind. Even though my record had been wiped clean, I'd been permitted to speak about some of my upbringing, which had pended John Buchanan's approval, and I'd finally gotten it on my sixth or seventh draft of my speech.

The black silk robes were stifling, and I remembered yet again that I had wanted to write a letter of complaint to the dean about that. Yes, I understood tradition and ceremony; that aside, it could very easily give you heat stroke. It was around eighty-seven degrees on this Thursday afternoon in the second week in June, and I was fully prepared to have off with this graduation gown and expose the lovely white dress that Baxter had picked out for me. There was a lull before the proper ceremony began; Gina and I engaged in some small-talk with some of our professors who congratulated us on our graduation, yet I found that Gina did most of the talking, and I found my eyes drawing towards Lincoln Beckett again. In the heat, he didn't seem quite so pompous as I'd initially believed any pretty-boy rich kid would normally be.

His jaw, of course, was expertly chiseled, almost as if it had been sculpted with alabaster clay. His nose was the classic Greek, and his eyes were the deepest blue I'd ever seen, quite close to cerulean. He had raven hair, closely and neatly cropped onto his head in an orderly fashion, and I know that he must've paid a fortune for his hair to look like that; he seriously belonged on the cover of GQ Magazine. It was almost as if he was on hyper-alert, because he suddenly turned towards me, his eyes piercing yet curious, and I quickly lowered my eyes, feeling a new flush appear upon my cheeks.

The dean of Hudson University, Madison Pierce, got to her feet; she had platinum blonde hair and pale blue eyes, and was very at ease with being the center of attention as she stepped towards the platform which held the microphone and a surface to put your paperwork. She smiled out at all the onlookers, and proceeded to speak. "Family, friends, relatives, husbands, wives, students, professors, guest speakers, and distinguished alumni, welcome one and all to the graduation of the class of 2017." She paused for a moment as the expected applause rang out of our campus stadium. "I'm very pleased to welcome our first speakers, our esteemed co-valedictorians, with tied GPA's of 4.6, please join me in welcoming Luigina King and Edythe Grayson."

I'd forgotten about Gina's full name for a moment, and wondered then if people had ever given her a hard time about it. We got to our feet then, holding onto our speeches and walking up to Dean Pierce and shaking her hand before taking our place behind the microphone. I waited patiently as Gina read her speech, before I spoke when she'd finished, roughly two minutes later.

"Thank you, Gina," I said, flashing her a smile before turning to the crowd. "While Gina's life was truly wonderful, in my early years, I didn't have it so easy. Child abuse is a term often thrown around like some kind of hot topic; adults who come into a child's life have ulterior motives, and when they get away with it for a significant period, they feel like they've hit a home run. My mother got involved with this kind of man, and he did unspeakable things to me until the age of seven, when I was finally rescued by my mother and father, who are now both captains of the NYPD." Everyone applauds briefly, and I allow them to do so, until I finally force myself to continue. "I was not out of the woods yet; because my first seven years of life were so damaging, I turned to drugs and alcohol because I didn't know how to express to the people who loved me the most that I was in constant pain, due to my past. It was when my mother found me in a hotel room on my fifteenth birthday—shooting up, in bed with an older guy—that she knew that I needed serious help. I allocuted for what I'd done, and I was put into a strict rehab program for six months, but was released a month early due to a family tragedy. I will forever remember those days of darkness, but I shall never forget the light that came afterwards; I'd like to thank my mother and father for being so patient with me, because I know that, without them, I would never have made it out of that period of time. I love you guys, and go class of 2017!" I cry out, and everyone gets to their feet and applauds me then.

I manage to get through the entire ceremony without salivating completely at my close proximity to Lincoln Beckett. I manage to tell him "thank you" as he praises me for graduating, as well as complimenting my speech. Once the diplomas are handed out, Dean Pierce gives closing remarks and then we are permitted to go and find our families. As I step down off the stage with Gina into the crowd, I permit myself to check my phone. I am dismayed to see that my father was called away on a case for IAB and my mother is tending to Viktoriya, who seems to have fallen on their way out to the car.

"A likely story," Gina says as I relay the information to her. "Unless you're a complete klutz, there's no way a nine-year-old could fall down the two concrete steps outside your place! That little bitch has had it in for you since day one!" she cries, shaking her head as we take off our graduation caps.

I roll my eyes. "Doesn't matter. I'll say a quick hello to your family and then head back to the apartment."

"Baxter's not coming?" Gina asks, cocking an eyebrow.

I grin at her. "He's catching a red-eye tonight," I reply, "and taking a cab to our place by seven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"My parents will insist that you come to dinner with us."

I shake my head. "No, that's fine. A quick hello—we may have both graduated tonight, but I don't want your parents feeling the need to seek conversation with me or to pity me for having no one here. Seriously."

"Is that all it is?" she asks me.

"Honestly, no," I reply, quietly, as we proceed to approach her family. "You told me yourself that Pierre was in town," I say, naming her older brother who was on leave from the marines.

"P doesn't mean any harm," Gina replied.

I roll my eyes. "P has been trying to get with me for almost three years," I remind her. "I was in a fragile place when we first met, and now I'm with Baxter. Which you're not allowed to tell your family."

"Wait. You're _with_ him? I thought it was just sex..."

I shrug. "I don't know what it is, Gina. It's not like we've had a particularly long conversation about our relationship. Whenever we seem to be getting close, he has to get back to Dallas."

"Are you resentful?"

"That he's putting his kids first? No. That he has to go back there, to Dallas, for a loveless marriage, just for them? Yes."

We finally make it to Gina's parents and brother, and I'm embraced by Theo and Miriam in a loving manner. I tell them of my exhaustion and politely decline their dinner offer, and say that I'm just going back to my car. We chat for a few moments before I excuse myself, but not before Pierre steps in.

"Let me walk you back to your car," he offers.

I plaster on a smile and shake my head. "That's fine," I say quickly. "No need, really, I promise."

But Pierre insists; he takes my arm and listens as I indicate which parking lot I've parked my car in. As we walk, he makes a strong effort to make small-talk with me, and I politely do so, feeling very uncomfortable at our closeness. I try to remind myself that he'd been home for nearly a week already, and he only took two off at a time, so it wasn't like I had to be subjected to his company for a very long period... Biting my lip, I focused primarily upon the cracks on the concrete in the parking lot, and wondered which, if any, earthquake had caused them to form —anything than listen to the trivial information Pierre wanted to get out of me for potential gift purposes.

"Here's my car," I say, moving away from his grip and walking over to my door. I manage to fish the keys from my pocket, whereupon I turn back to face him. "It was really nice of you to walk me back here, Pierre..."

He smiles; he is not unattractive—apart from looking like Eric Trump, which has always caused me to stay away from him; also, whenever he smiles, it doesn't meet his eyes, and I wonder if there is a slight chemical imbalance there. "It was nothing—anything to be alone with you," he replies. "Besides, New York can be dangerous for a woman."

"At night, maybe," I reply, forcing myself not to grit my teeth at his arrogance. "As I'm sure you know, it's summer, and it's only six. The sun won't set for another three hours or so."

"That may be so," Pierre says, "but what you have to realize is, many people would die to be in your place."

"And why is that?" I ask him.

"Because you look beautiful beneath the almost setting sun," he replies, like some dumb, new age musician/poet attempting to be sexy or desirable. "More beautiful, in fact, that I've ever seen you."

"Thanks, I guess," I reply, my voice emotionless. It wasn't just his physical looks; it was the very fact that he was a marine—he felt as if he'd been anointed by god himself, or something. His pompous, arrogant manner was also a big major turn-off; and besides, it was almost as if he didn't take 'no' for an answer.

"Women always look beautiful in the sunset," he continued, "and I've always thought you were beautiful. Ever since that day, back when Gina still lived at home, that she brought you by to hang out. All I wanted to do then was this," he said, and yanked me towards him, kissing me.

I felt absolutely nothing—nothing but pure hatred for this insignificant little twit who should've never been able to touch me! Immediately, I fight the urge to shove him back, and, instead, push him away from me. "Pierre, don't," I say, forcing myself to keep my voice firm.

"Why? I can do it better," he replies, leaning down and doing it again and, this time, attempting to fumble around beneath my graduation gown.

I push him back, more forcefully this time. "No," I say, firmly.

He chuckles, and I see a darkness to him that I'd never seen before—he was stupid, sure, but not cruel, and yet, he was. "When are you going to get it?" he asks me. "I don't think you are getting it... 'No' is not an option," he says, kissing me again, forcing his tongue into my mouth and exploring it.

"Stop, no!" I say against his mouth, trying and fail to push him completely away from me. "Let me go, Pierre! Let me go!"

"Hey!" says a voice, and, suddenly, Pierre is no longer pawing at me and my eyes adjust accordingly. "She said 'no'," says Lincoln Beckett, and he shoves Pierre away from me.

Pierre, thankfully, slithers away without a fight.

"Are you okay, Edythe?" Lincoln asks, surveying me.

"Yeah, fine," I say.

"Friend of yours?" he asks.

"Best friend's brother," I reply. "You know Gina? The co-valedictorian? He's her older brother."

Lincoln looks me over, still not convinced. "Sure you're okay?"

I nod. "Yes. Thank you."

"Where's your family?" he asks, looking around.

"My father is a captain for IAB—he was called onto a case," I reply. "And my mother is in the process of adopting another child, so she's dealing with her right now. This child and I... We don't really see eye-to-eye, and she likes to keep my mother and I apart. She deliberately hurt herself this afternoon—of course, our mother doesn't see it that way—to get out of coming to my graduation..."

"Just the younger sister, then?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. After me, my mother had twins, a boy and a girl, named Olivia and Donald, before that ape took office. Then they had another son, Mason, and now they've got Viktoriya."

Lincoln laughs at my opinion of the man who America deemed fit to take office, but has not succeeded in making it great again. "So, you don't have any plans this evening, Miss Grayson?"

 _Miss Grayson_? I think to myself. _Why the sudden formality..._? "No," I reply, shaking my head at him. "No plans."

"Have dinner with me," he says and, before I can even answer, whistles for a driver who pulls a very sleek town car around. "Come on," he says, motioning for a man getting out of the passenger seat to step forward. "Is your home address keyed into the GPS system?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes."

"Good," he replies. "Jensen, take Miss Grayson's car back to her place. Fairfield will be along to pick you up while Miss Grayson and I are eating."

"Yes, Mr. Beckett," Jensen replies, and I hand over my keys.

Lincoln turns to me briefly. "Take off the gown," he says. "The restaurant is a high-society place, I'm afraid.

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I do so, and Lincoln's eyes pop at the appearance of my Marc Jacobs white Amelie floral-print swing dress.

Lincoln fights his shock and hands over the gown to Jensen, who puts it into the back seat of my car and speeds off. Then, Lincoln opens the sleek town car door for me, and I slip inside, prepared to move over, but he promptly shuts the door and circles the car. He comes inside and sits next to me, not touching me, and leans forward slightly to address the man called Fairfield. "I would like it if you would drop us off at Scalinatella, please."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Beckett," Fairfield replies as we drive off.

"Police academy, then?" he asks me.

"Yes," I reply. "How did you...?"

"I saw you staring at me, so I checked the program," Lincoln tells me. "After a Google search didn't come up with much, I asked your dean about you. She and I are old friends and I mentioned the possibility of an internship for you, should things not work out with the police academy. She mentioned you received other degrees as well..."

"In child psychology and criminal law," I reply.

"Well, I own one of the big firms in Downtown Manhattan," he replies. "Inherited it from my father." When I look at him in confusion, he says, "I took my mother's maiden name, but never rebranded the firm. It's the firm of Earnest, Brewster, & Hathaway. My father was Morris Hathaway."

"And Earnest and Brewster are...?"

"Earnest and Brewster are my father's former partners—mainly just a formality, as I own the most shares, and the company itself. Clarence Brewster and Jackson Earnest were my godfathers; they are married, actually, and they only want what's best for me and the company."

"Must be nice," I say, "surrounded by family like that. My mother's in prison for another five years, and so is her boyfriend. I never knew my father—the lawyers all said he died, but I don't think that's true."

"Maybe it's something your biological mother kept from you."

I shrugged. "Maybe," I reply. I sigh, leaning back slightly against the fine, black leather interior of his car. I immediately straighten up when I see Gina's and my apartment come into view, and turn to look at Lincoln. "What's...?"

He smiles at me. "I just asked you to dinner so that it would potentially throw that Pierre character off," he replies. "Don't worry—we just met. I wouldn't expect you to just come to dinner with me."

I nod, shaking off the slight disappointment I feel. "No, of course," I reply. "I am feeling a bit tired, anyway."

"All right." He waits for Fairfield to pull off to the side, whereupon he gets out of the car, circles it, and lets me out. He extends his hand, and we both stiffen at the same time as he assists me into a standing position. "Where's your phone?" he asks me, quietly.

Immediately, I take it out of my pocket. "Right here."

He takes it quickly, managing to bypass my passcode and opening the 'contacts' icon; then, he adds himself to my phone. "Call me if you ever need anything," he says. "Jensen will be posted here all night to ensure that Pierre doesn't come to call to bother you."

"That really isn't necessary..."

Lincoln's eyes lock with mine. "You have to be kept safe, Miss Grayson."

I lower my eyes. "Yes, Mr. Beckett," I reply.

"All programmed in," he says, handing over my phone.

I nod. "Thank you," I reply, taking my phone back.

Lincoln smiles, he reaches out, like he wants to draw me to him, but thinks better of it and lowers his hand. "All right. Best be off—I have a meeting in Brooklyn in a couple of hours and I can't be late."

I nod. "Thank you, Lincoln," I say, quietly.

He turns at the sound of his name on my lips, looking touched. He hesitates, and then nods to me. "You're welcome, Edythe," he replies, getting into his car and driving off.

I get Gina's text a while later that she's heard about what Pierre did and that her parents aren't too pleased. They are both staying with them for the weekend, so I have the apartment to myself for the duration of Baxter's stay. I do my best to block what happened with Pierre, and Lincoln's subsequent rescue of me, and decide to tidy up the main room, kitchen, and my bedroom in the apartment. I ignore my mother's text messages of apology and desire to get together the following day, not interested—all I need, all I really need, is the feeling of delight I feel whenever Baxter and I are together.

The following morning, I get ready two full hours before he is due to arrive; I take a shower, and strip my bed, placing my sheets in the washing machine and putting Baxter's favorite set upon my bed. Then, after my shower and blow-drying my hair, I put on a new lingerie ensemble that I'd intended to wear the next time I saw my lover. It was a black lace corset number, with matching panties, which attached to garters, and my black heels. I complemented the piece with a new black silk robe and set up my LED candles around the room. I'd also ordered some red roses from the flower market down the street, picking them up about half an hour before Baxter was due to arrive.

Approximately five minutes before Baxter was due to arrive, I was in my new lingerie and robe, which is when I heard the buzzer. My makeup was precisely on point as I left my bedroom, walked down the hallway past the ornate gourmet kitchen directly through the posh living room—furnished by Gina's parents back when they'd first owned the place—and into the entryway, where the front door was. Pressing the buzzer, I asked, "Who's there?"

"Baxter," came the reply, and I felt a rush of desire.

"Come on up," I reply, forcing my voice to remain amorous. I pressed the buzzer again, letting him in, and smoothed my hair one last time as I heard his familiar footsteps upon the hardwood floor outside. As soon as he pressed the doorbell and I checked to make sure it was him—and only him—I unlatched and unlocked the door and let him in. "Hi, there," I say, feeling a rush of satisfaction when I notice his eyes popping.

Baxter grins, walking into the apartment, and I shut and lock the door behind him, anticipating Gina's return later that night. Baxter knows to follow me back into my bedroom, and does, throwing his slate gray duffel bag in one corner as I shut and lock my bedroom door. He immediately puts his hands on me then, moving to slide the robe from my shoulders and off the rest of my body. "I'm desperate to open the present," he whispers, his hand upon the silk chord on my waist, pulling at it as his lips contacted with my neck.

I feel a giggle escaping my lips as I turn to face him, allowing him to pull the chord from around my waist and allowing the robe to slip silently to the floor. I feel a rush of goose bumps as soon as Baxter lays eyes upon me, and he pulls me into his arms and kisses me with the kind of reckless abandon that I hadn't experienced since the first time we got together. "Please..." I whisper.

Baxter chuckles against my lips, lifting me up into his arms and placing me front and center upon my bed. He unhooks my garters, his lips causing me to shiver as soon as he kisses me upon my legs and the insides of my thighs. He pulls off my heels and then takes off his shirt, and I shudder at his impressive physique. He then lifts me ever so slightly, unhooking my corset before removing my panties, leaving me there in my knee-highs as he took off his belt and allowed his suit pants to fall to the ground. Then, he removes his boxers as I provide the condom, and he takes ahold of my hips again.

Almost immediately, I grip the silk sheets of my bed from the moment it happens, and I feel my sharp intake of breath so far at the back of my throat. My legs promptly wrap themselves around his torso, and I pull him closer. My eyes roll back into my head as I release the sheets and pull him closer still, almost as if I never want him to stop; almost as if I never want to let him go.

After basking in our lovemaking for over an hour, Baxter props himself up onto his elbow and looks down at me. He smiles, his eyes kind, and he reaches out, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. "Can I interest you in a shower?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Tell me why," I reply.

Baxter chuckles. "Your interrogation skills are on point, Miss Grayson," he tells me, leaning down and kissing me. "Because I may have gotten us a table at one of the hottest spots in town..."

Immediately, I pull back. "Wait. Not the Blackwater Grille?" I ask.

He grins. "The same."

I find myself biting my lip, wishing to toy with him. "Well, all right. But I'm not sure if you remember how to wash yourself..."

Baxter raises his eyebrows. "Oh?" he asks as I take him by the hand and take him into my bathroom.

I flip on the lights as we step inside, and I open the clear-colored shower door as he shuts the door behind him. I step halfway-in, halfway-out of the shower, adjusting the temperature, and peering over my shoulder at Baxter, who looks altogether amused by the situation. Stepping inside, I pull him behind me, and he comes willingly, gently shutting the door behind him. The water is warm upon my skin and I savor it going through my hair and down my body. I grab my loofah, putting it upon my expensive soap and soaping Baxter up, and he shuts his eyes in a wave of pleasure and satisfaction.

He takes ahold of the shower head, washing himself off, and then takes the loofah from me, lathering me up as well. When I'm deemed clean, he washes me off as well, before pulling me into his arms. He rests his forehead against mine, smiling down at me. "You have no idea how much you've awakened me," he whispers, his arms tight around my waist. "I can't tell you how happy I am."

I sigh, putting my head upon his shoulder. "I felt lost for such a long time," I tell him quietly. "The drugs, the sex, juvie, rehab—all of it. None of it meant anything, anything at all," I say. "This," I say, stepping back, placing my hand upon the center of his chest, and savoring the constant beating of his heart, "this means something—it means everything."

Baxter smiles at my touch, tilting my chin up and kissing me. "I want you," he whispers against my lips.

I peek up at him. "What are you waiting for?" I reply.

He grins, picking me up, and I wrap my legs around him, letting out a small cry as he enters me, right there, in the shower, keeping my arms tightly around him to ensure that I won't fall.

Baxter informs me, after we'd left the shower and made love three times more, that the reservations were open-ended, and that he intends to take me out to dinner instead, and I find I don't care which. I step towards my wardrobe—fresh from a third shower—and select the black dress I'd bought while I was in Dallas, the one I'd worn when we made love for the first time. I fasten the lone black pearl against my throat, and do up my pantyhose properly, stepping into my black heels and allowing Baxter to zip up the back of the dress. I slowly let my hair cascade down, and he pulls me up—lengthwise—against him, and we mutually shudder at the other's touch.

"Mine," he whispers, putting his lips against my neck and allowing his hands to rove from his lips, past my breasts, to cup me briefly between my legs.

I shudder again at his intimate touch. "Yours," I confirm.

"Our reservations are in half an hour," he tells me softly.

"Hmmm," I reply, but break away from him, allowing him to complete getting ready in my favorite suit of his.

Baxter takes my arm, after I've finished putting my keys, wallet, and cell phone into my black clutch, and then we walk out of my bedroom and out of the apartment. He grins and shows me to a town car, which he inexplicably hired for the night, and it takes us all the way to the restaurant, about two miles away. He takes my hand as we walk outside the car, who is told to wait until we've finished with our meal and then to collect us later. We step into the restaurant, where Baxter gives his name to the maitre d, and we are shown to our table, a circular booth located near the back.

Once our menus are handed over, I make a great effort to concentrate on mine; I hadn't eaten since a bagel with cream cheese before Baxter had come over, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Baxter gets a steak and a baked potato, with a Caesar salad, and I opt for the same, along with the chocolate soufflé for dessert, which Baxter takes as well. Our salads come and we proceed to eat them, all the while stealing glances at one another.

"Are you happy?" he asks me, after our salads are gone, and we're just about to cut into our steaks.

I flash him a smile. "Of course—these steaks look delicious."

Baxter smiles indulgently my way. "No, I don't mean with dinner—although I'm glad you are."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh. You mean generally..."

"Yes."

I sigh, lowering my knife and fork. "I mean, it isn't perfect. I will admit I still feel an ounce of guilt whenever my mind drifts to Stella and the kids—I mean, they're my family, and so are you. There may be no blood between us, Baxter, but for all intents and purposes, you're technically my uncle."

He nods. "I know. I'm not disputing that." He lips become a flat line, and he lowers his cutlery as well. "I'm not going to lie—I wish my marriage to Stella was perfect; and I don't mean anything against you..."

I shake my head. "No, of course not. I wouldn't ask you to say otherwise. It would be wonderful if every marriage was a match made in heaven."

He reaches across the table, taking my hand and squeezing it. "Thank you for understanding."

I smile, squeezing his hand back before releasing it, and then we indulge in our steaks. "No problem," I reply.

We are silent in each other's company for a while after that. We finish our steaks and then wait for our soufflés; the waiter had told us that we'd made a wise choice by ordering them in advance, for they took thirty minutes to make. They arrived in a smell of heavenly, rich chocolate, and I find myself very close to rubbing my hands together in a moment of child-like satisfaction. We clang our dessert forks together, and proceed to tuck in, popping our own desserts simultaneously and indulging in it.

Finally, when I'm just about to get to the middle of the thing, my fork clangs with something odd. Sifting through my dessert, a glint of platinum catches my eye, and I let out a small gasp as I proceed digging, and find that the platinum is circular shaped—for ones' finger. Pulling it out with a bit of my fork, a massive, oval-shaped diamond is at its helm, and I immediately dip my fine cloth napkin into my water glass, attempting to salvage it.

"What...? What...?" is all I can manage to get out, holding the ring with shaking fingers and attempting staring up at Baxter. "Did I get someone else's...?" I say softly, and it is then that I see Baxter kneeling next to me. "Baxter..."

He smiles, gently taking the ring from my shaking fingers. "The reason why I was a day late—the reason why I missed your graduation—was because I had a meeting with my lawyer," he says softly. "I met with him because I told him I met a woman that I cannot live without. I told him about the complexities connected to our relationship, and especially about the family taboo and the age difference. But I assured him that we weren't related, and we aren't," he says, just managing to finish up the sordid details before everyone in the restaurant turns to look at this much older man kneeling before a young girl. "Look, I know I'm in my mid-forties and you're nineteen, and I know it's a scary thing, but I love you, Edythe Grayson, and I can't live without you, not anymore. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

I feel myself hyperventilating at the very notion of it all, my eyes filling with tears at the thought of marrying Baxter. But I remembered all the wonderful times we'd had since we'd gotten together almost a year ago, and it was too tempting to resist it, and I couldn't... "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, yes, yes!" I cried, throwing my arms around him, pulling back just in time to kiss him.

Baxter grinned as the whole restaurant applauded, and he slipped the ring onto my finger, before straightening and standing before me for a moment. "I'm sorry we can't celebrate properly," he lamented, but suddenly, waiters appeared out of nowhere and served us champagne, without carding me. "I won't tell if you won't," Baxter said after they'd gone, clasping my hand in his. "Our first lie as an engaged couple!" he joked.

I share in his laugher and stare down at my ring. "Nor the last, I dare say," I reply, feeling utterly content with everything.

MAGGIE'S POV

I was surprised when Hunter's case ended early and he asked me to meet him for dinner in the city around eight o'clock. I managed to get Helena to watch the kids that evening, thanking heaven we'd added a whole wing for her and Sebastian to live in ever since she'd had trouble in finding other employment when she'd considered leaving us. I quickly dressed, mulling over the name of the restaurant Hunter had gotten us a table at—actually, a satisfied client had given it to him weeks ago, and we hadn't used it yet. It was called the Blackwater Grille, and I immediately pictured a pitch-black establishment that played nothing but Nirvana and had a Goth/Grunge theme to it.

I met Hunter at the entrance, and found myself smiling at him as I approached, before he saw me. He truly was a beautiful man; he hadn't begun to go silver yet, although I knew when he did, he would be a silver fox, _my_ silver fox. I kept the smile glued to my face as I approached, and he grinned at me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me.

"Long day?" he asked. "I'm surprised you said it would take so long—weren't you with Edythe? I would've thought you would leave Helena with the kids overnight and spent some time with her..."

I raise my eyebrows and shake my head. "I texted you, especially when you said things would run late and you'd be staying at the penthouse..." I say lamely, taking out my phone and attempting to show him, but see that all my texts and emails on the subject have vanished. "Weird... Viktoriya had a little accident on our way to the car this morning, so we couldn't leave Westchester—I spent a few hours of the afternoon in the hospital..."

"An accident?" Hunter asked, checking his texts and email. "Nothing from you... I can't believe this. What kind of accident? Is she all right?"

I nod at him. "Yes, she's fine. The doctor said she'll have some minor bruising but that it wasn't serious. When I mentioned that we'd adopted her from Russia, however, he thought her PTSD could've kicked in and that's why she may have overreacted..."

Hunter shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. "Sometimes, I just don't know about her. Whenever we so much as mention Edythe's name, she freaks out for no good reason. We've never even left them alone together, although Edythe didn't stay long after we got her. Do you think maybe it could have to do with Edythe's apparent rejection when we brought her home? Remember, she did just walk out of the room..."

I shake my head at him. "No, I don't think so. She just acts so entitled all the time, and the therapist says we'll get a breakthrough at any time..."

Hunter sighed. "When? It's been over a year..." He checked his watch. "Oh. Come on, we'd better get inside." He tucked my hand beneath his arm and we walked into the restaurant together. "Grayson, party of two," he said.

"Right this way, please," the maitre d said.

We make our way inside, and are led to a booth close to the back. Hunter allows me the first seat, and then moves to sit across from me, his back to the kitchen, as well as the couple sitting behind us. Taking no notice of us, I see none other than my daughter—my precious oldest daughter, sitting with... _Baxter_?! I mentally put my first in my mouth, knowing I shouldn't alarm Hunter; he was stressed out due to this new case as it was, especially since he'd taken over for Tucker at IAB after Tucker left the department. Plus, after his breakup with Olivia that last winter, it was difficult to discern what was really real anymore.

We ordered drinks and salads, waiting on our main course before Hunter went to the bathroom, of course located in the opposite direction of where our daughter was sitting with Baxter. Normally, I wouldn't have done anything about it; if it looked like just a casual dinner, I wouldn't have cared. But this did not look like a casual dinner; from time to time, they held hands. It was also in the way they laughed, and, when Baxter kissed her palm and closed her hand around it, my hackles came up.

I smiled brightly at Hunter when he returned. "Drinks came," I say.

He nods, grinning back. "I can see that," he replies, sipping his scotch.

"Do you mind if I use the ladies room?" I ask him. "Long drive..."

He shakes his head. "Of course not, sweetheart."

I smile at him. "Thanks," I reply, taking my purse with me as I leave the table and make my way back to where the restrooms are. I cross my fingers that Edythe doesn't come in there as I fish through my purse and take out my phone. I dial the familiar number, counting the rings.

"Maggie?" comes the familiar voice.

"Stella, hi," I say softly into the receiver. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Oh, no," my sister replies. "Just indulging in a glass of chardonnay while watching one of my shows. Taking a rare night off."

"Night off?" I ask.

"Sophie's nanny is watching the kids at Sophie's place," she replies. "I get the house to myself and I just finished a case myself. I am happy and I can't believe I seem to have absolutely everything I could ever want..."

"Well..." I say softly.

"What?" she asks. "What is it?"

I sigh. "I don't know if I'm right or wrong here, but I'm out to dinner with Hunter, and at the next table, it looks like Baxter and Edythe are on a date," I whisper.

EDYTHE'S POV

Baxter and I take the town car back to the apartment, and I'm greeted with a text by Gina which says that she'll be staying at her parent's house for another night. I am pleased at a solo night with my lover—excuse me, fiancé—and as we step back into the apartment, I am about to tell him how pleased I am. As we make our way to my bedroom, his phone vibrating interrupts us.

"Get it, it's fine," I reply, perching on the edge of the bed, taking off my heels. I then walk over to my wardrobe, taking out a virgin-white, frilly lingerie piece I'd been saving. "Hmmm?" I ask him.

"Put that on," he orders, grinning at me, and answers the phone call. "Stella. What is it? Are the kids okay?"

"No!" she cries, almost as if she's in tears. "Harper got into some rat poison and I've just called for an ambulance! She's losing consciousness!"

"Stella, you know that the doctors can..."

"Get home!" Stella sobs. "Harper!" she screams, before the line goes dead.

Baxter sighs, and runs his hands through his hair. "Do you mind if...?"

I shake my head, putting the lingerie back into the wardrobe. "Of course not," I reply quickly. "Want me to go with you?"

He shakes his head, a small smile upon his lips. "No. It's probably best if I break the news to them myself."

I nod. "Of course. I'll book you a flight."

"Thank you," he replies, proceeding to get his things together.

"Okay—we've got you one first class ticket from LaGuardia to Dallas/Fort Worth International," I tell him proudly. "Your flight is in three hours."

"Great," he says.

"I also got you an Uber," I continue. "It should be here in twenty minutes."

Baxter finishes packing and takes me into his arms. "Thank you," he says, and, for the first time, I see he is not wearing his gold wedding band.

"You took it off?" I ask him.

He nods. "Yes. Before we left the restaurant, I flushed it."

"You didn't have to do that..."

He tilts my chin up to kiss me. "Yes, I did. Besides, I want us to pick out one together when I get back—platinum. Your favorite."

I nod. "You'd be right."

He kisses me again, and we simply lie on my bed, holding each other, until the confirmation that his Uber has arrived sounds on my phone. He allows me to walk him to the door, and we share a smile and a final kiss before I open it. He steps out into the hallway, saluting me. "Goodbye, soon-to-be Officer Grayson. I love you, my wife-to-be."

"Goodbye, soon-to-be divorced Baxter Hendricks," I reply. "I love you, too, my husband-to-be." I return to my bedroom soon thereafter, switching off the lights and responding to his text messages, emoji to emoji, selfie to selfie, until he is due to board his plane. I roll over and fall asleep, phone in my hand, on my side in the center of my massive bed, my head full of happy thoughts as my mind drifts off and I think of my wedding to my fiancé.

"Edythe. Edythe! Get up, now!"

"Geen?" I ask, my eyebrows knitting together as I struggle to open my eyes and cover them immediately. "Bright light. Not good."

"Edythe. Wake up. Please."

I sigh and comply, getting into a sitting position and rubbing the last of the sleep out of my eyes. "Eight-thirty?" I say, peering at the clock on my bedside table, its red numbers glaring at me. "A new record for too-little sleep..."

"Edythe. This is serious."

I make a mock-groaning sound. "What? Did Pierre run away?"

"No!" Gina says, swiping my shoulder. "Come on. Serious talking—now."

"What?!" I demand, looking at her.

"Didn't Baxter book a flight out her last night? A red-eye back to Dallas at around one a.m.?"

"No," I reply. "I'd know—I booked it for it. It was Flight Number 1536. Why is it so important?"

Gina sighed, looking grave. "They were flying over Arkansas, almost home. They were flying over the Ouachita National Forest when their radio went dead. The plane was immediately reported missing, until some hikers found it and wired for the sheriff. There were no survivors, Edythe."

"No s...?" I whisper, unable to get the last word out.

She shakes her head. "No. The sheriff was able to get in touch with both airports, and everybody was strapped into their seats. Police went out there—experts in all their fields—and confirmed that everyone was where they were supposed to be, and that there were, honest to god, over eighty confirmed fatalities."

I cover my hand with my mouth, turning away from her. I barely feel the tears coming down my face. I don't speak; how could I?

"I'm so, so sorry, Edythe," Gina whispered, moving to take my hand. "Is that...? I mean... That's not...?"

I sigh and don't look at her. "Yes," I manage to get out. "He asked me to marry him last night and now..." I don't move to hug her for comfort, and she doesn't move to embrace me, and I am all right with that. I am unaware of so many things now, and I wouldn't mind sitting here, like this, for the rest of my life. I am so preoccupied with my likely life of emptiness that I am completely unaware at a knock on the front door. "I'll go," Gina says, getting to her feet; she was wearing her gray ensemble that morning; gray sweats, gray camisole, gray sweater, gray slippers... Her speed is short and quick, as always, as she leaves my bedroom and walks down the hallway, opening the front door quickly. "Hey, Maggie," she says, softly.

"Is Edythe...?"

"Yes, she's in her room. Go right in."

"Thank you, Gina," my mother replies, and I hear her customary footfalls coming down the hallway, and I manage to tuck my hand underneath my pillow, not wishing to take off my last link to Baxter. "Darling?" my mother says, stepping into my bedroom.

I don't look up at her; instead, my face crumples, and I immediately cover my mouth with my other hand to stop the sobs from escaping. I know I shouldn't be reacting so strongly, but...

"Sweetheart," my mother says, crossing my bedroom and embracing me. She rubs my back, and I suddenly remember breaking down in front of her when she brought John Buchanan to save me from prison time. "It's okay. I know, I know, I know..."

"I know," I say quietly. "I know you know..."

"What?" she asks.

I sigh, pulling back from her. "You and Dad have very specific scents," I reply. "I know Dad's particular aftershave, and your perfume," I tell her. "I smelled you last night at the restaurant—you were there."

"Edythe..."

"What? You can take time for each other, but you fall for your new daughter's antics?" I demand. "She _hates_ me, Mom—Viktoriya! That's why I moved out. I don't want to be a part of your life if she's in it."

"You have no right to make that choice," she says, resolutely.

"I do!" I reply. "I make many choices."

"Like what?"

"Like this!" I scream, shoving my hand in her face. I feel my face has reddened, and my eyes are awash with tears.

"Edythe!" she shouts. "You didn't..."

"I did, Mom!" I cry out. "Baxter and I were in love..."

"Oh, dear..." she whispers, standing up and moving away from me.

"What?!" I demand, charging after her. "What is it now?! What could you have possibly have done now, Mother?!"

"I told Stella I saw you together," she admits, and immediately, my anger washes away, and it turns to shock.

"You... You what?" I whisper.

She sighs. "I told her I saw you together and she freaked out. She said she needed to try and find a way to bring Baxter home..."

"She called him," I whisper to her, "when we got back. She called him and said that Harper swallowed rat poison and that—"

"The kids weren't with her last night," my mother replies. "No... No, they were at Sophie's place..."

"No..." I whisper. "No, no..."

"Edythe?" she whispers.

"No!" I scream, my knees buckling as I fall to the ground, screaming. I thrash around, pushing her calming hands away as I scratch at the hardwood floor. "Not him, not Baxter! Not him...!" I scream, covering my face with my hands as my sobs escalate into further screams of anguish.


	6. Flash-Forward and Back

Chapter Six: Flash-Forward and Back

I remembered it all—that day that Baxter was killed in a plane crash. I remembered subsequent events—spotty, like an old VHS tape that has constant fuzzy bars upon your more-advanced T.V. (flat screen?) screen. But most of all, I remembered my graduation from police academy...

"We are proud to welcome you to this graduating class of police officers," says the officer who ran the academy, Captain Michael Jacobsen. "I am very proud to introduce you to these men and women, who should be proud to serve New York's finest. First in our class this year was the daughter of veteran police officers themselves—Captain Hunter Grayson of the Internal Affair's Bureau, and Captain Margaret Grayson, Captain of Manhattan Homicide. Ladies and gentleman, family, friends, relatives, officers, detectives, sergeants, lieutenants, and captains alike, please give a warm welcome to Officer Edythe Grayson!" he says, clapping jovially, and I approach, saluting him.

"Thank you very much, Captain Jacobsen," I say, shaking his hand. "It's truly an honor." It was a rehearsed piece, and all I was required to say, so I quickly returned to my seat.

Final remarks were made before we were presented with our badges, and then we were permitted to go and find our families. It was a cool, crisp February day, a far cry from that summer morning eight months before that, when I'd been woken up with news of Baxter's death. It was also two months after that, when doctors had confirmed at my pre-physical before joining the academy that I was approximately eight weeks pregnant, and I quickly had that taken care of. _I wanted no reminders of my past_ , I thought to myself as I made my way over to my mother, father, Livi, Donnie, and Mason.

"All right ceremony?" I asked.

"Wonderful," my mother said, embracing me.

Though she may have inadvertently contributed to Baxter's death, there was no ill will between us. Once everyone had seen Viktoriya for what she was—a devious, disturbed child, she was sent to an American foster home, and all the mentions of adoption with her immediately ceased. We never mentioned her name since then, and I was happy about that.

"You were amazing, kiddo," Dad said, pulling me into his arms. "Couldn't have greeted Captain Jacobsen better myself."

"Come on, Dad," I tell him, shaking my head. "You know as well as I do that you can call him 'Michael'. He really looks up to you, you know." Yes, I truly remembered it all—even now, as I sat at the godforsaken judgement desk and took the pivotal exam. The last time I'd freaked out so much was when I had taken the exam to enter police academy. Never in a million years had I ever anticipated such anxiety flowing through me. I was never nervous, but this was different—there was a waiting period of a few months if I failed the test. I'd given five years as an officer in the NYPD, and I knew I was ready for the challenge, that is, if the challenge was ready to be met.

I signed my identification number to the end of the paperwork as soon as I'd completed the test, shutting it quickly, never wanting to see it again. I stared down at the intricate patterns of the ancient, wooden desk in front of me, wondering what its story was. Stories... Guilt swept through me for the millionth time that day as I recalled something else.

Since we'd been having an affair, Baxter had changed his will substantially, and had cut Stella out of it entirely. She'd contested it, of course—even though she didn't love him, she felt she was entitled to half or all his money in the event of his untimely death. I suppose me saying all I wanted to keep was the engagement ring he'd given me was enough for the court to realize I wasn't a gold digger, and left me the money that Baxter wanted me to have—a cool one million. I'd put it away immediately in the bank, not wanting to touch it or look at it until such a time when I truly needed it.

I barely heard the bell signaling the end of something...

"Ladies and gentleman, if you've finished with your exams, please bring them forward to be collected. As for those of you who haven't finished, you will be given an additional fifteen minutes."

...or the beginning of something else.

I get to my feet, gripping my test booklet tightly, but not so tightly that it would leave ugly, messy creases. Ugly, messy... Those were two things people of high-society didn't like or want involved with them; this was something I knew well, I thought to myself as I walked up towards the desk to hand over the test booklet that would make or break my future. I stared briefly at my left hand, which had—for several weeks—held the ring that Baxter had gotten me, as a token of tribute for what he had had and what we would have wanted to have. Now, there was a very different ring there.

It was my mother's engagement ring, as a matter of fact; I'd gotten it from Lincoln Beckett when he'd proposed to me the second time. As I handed in my test booklet and thanked the instructor, I collected my bag from the bin at the front of the room and slipped out of there, outside, and into Lincoln's car. He promptly finished some call about a client's account in Barbados and hung up his phone, turning at once to me.

"How was it?" he asked, smiling at me.

"As well as could be expected, I suppose," I reply.

He puts an arm around me and pulls me close. "I'm sure you passed," he says reassuringly to me. "Now, where would my lovely fiancée like to go to dinner this lovely February evening?"

I roll my eyes. "You know full well it's the anniversary of our first date," I say to him, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

"Oh, all right," he joked. "Jensen, to our regular place, please."

"Of course, Mr. Beckett," Jensen replied, smiling at us briefly in the rear-view mirror before pulling away from the curb and driving down the street.

As I leaned my head upon Lincoln's shoulder and inhaled his familiar, superior cologne, I remembered how I'd felt the moment my mother had informed me that Baxter was no more. All my plans for a happy life with someone of the opposite sex had gone out the window, and I wasn't actively seeking anyone. Apart from my study group sessions I'd had at the academy, I'd never had any real interactions with any eligible men my own age for a considerable period.

Lincoln, as a generous benefactor to the New York Police Academy, had attended my graduation. He'd found me after I'd initially greeted my parents, and they'd agreed to give me a little space to cope with this feeling that I'd managed to carve a life for myself out there in this big world. As I circled the street, looking out at the terrain that I'd soon oversee, I'd turned around to see a familiar face, and was equally shocked when he'd said he'd been looking for me to congratulate me on my top marks, not that he'd expected anything less.

"We're here, Mr. Beckett, Miss Grayson," Jensen says.

"Thank you, Jensen," Lincoln said. "No need to get out. I'll get it."

"Yes, sir," Jensen said.

Lincoln got out of the car and circled it, opening my door and letting me out. As we walked towards the intimate steakhouse, some paparazzi snapped a few as we walked by. It was a hot spot for the rich and famous, and I'd sworn I'd seen a supermodel and her football player husband walk in before us. The paparazzi loved Lincoln, and now that I was on his arm again, after one failed engagement and this second one lasting approximately two weeks, they were hungry for one of the scoops of the century.

Stepping inside, Lincoln asked for our usual table, and we were promptly taken back there and seated. The handover of the menus was just a formality at this point, for my fiancé and I always ordered the same thing—a couple of their best steaks, pasta with marsala sauce, a Caesar salad, their molten chocolate lava cake, and—now that I was legally of age—their finest Dom Pérignon champagne. The waitress flirted lightly with Lincoln, as always—she was a bubbly girl, about my age, with honey-blonde hair, engaging blue eyes, and an ample bosom. Despite everything, Lincoln was merely polite to her and ordered our dinner and she walked away, apparently disappointed at not breaking up a well-known couple and potentially getting her fifteen minutes of fame. _Forbes Magazine_ would be after us, I knew, when we did marry, for, mutually, we'd be worth several billion, and, therefore, were a hot topic for them, as well as for every female—and some males—in the State of New York, if not worldwide.

Things were different this time around, this second time of being engaged. The first engagement had ended after six months, when a girl from Lincoln's past, called Kassandra Martin _é, had encountered us one afternoon when we were having lunch out. She'd ignored me entirely throughout the conversation—about forty minutes' worth, so much so that I'd had to get back to my NYPD police officer job—and seemed delighted when I'd finally left._

 _Kassandra_ Martin _é finally told Lincoln, after a considerable period, that she'd been wrong about him at their finishing school and that she wanted to be with him. Floored, I'd ended things; a year and a half later, after settling with various accounts and clients in Europe, the United Kingdom, and Asia—as well as dealing with the death of his paternal aunt, his last living relative—Lincoln had come to see me. After the mandatory polygraph I put him through, it confirmed that he had never engaged in any kind of dating, physical, or sexual activity with Kassandra_ Martin _é, so I'd taken him back. He proposed three months after that, just two weeks ago, and I'd accepted._

 _"Fretting about the test?" Lincoln asked, taking my hand._

 _I raised my eyes to his, feeling such safety and love beneath his gaze. "You know, I thought about it, and you're right. I'm sure I passed."_

 _He smiled. "Good," he replied. "Now, I know it's probably not the best time, but I was wondering..."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Have you considered setting a date for the wedding?"_

 _I smiled at him, pleased that it is something I can handle, for once. "Well, you know that if I pass this test, I'll want to start work by September," I tell him, and I know exactly what to say. "And, if I get it, I can quit now and use some vacation time—I have a few months, and have the summer off. So, I was thinking, if I get it, I'll leave my job, and plan the wedding, and we can get married by this summer and go on our honeymoon then. Deal?"_

 _Lincoln smiles. "I like the sound of that," he replies, raising his champagne flute and putting it against mine._

 _I remembered that I'd gone into a kind of shock as soon as I'd gotten over my sobbing; I didn't protest when my mother called my father, and suggested I take the ring off, but I refused. Seeing no end to it, my mother immediately took off her necklace and removed the pendant, taking the ring off me and securing it to the silver chain, before fastening it around my neck. I felt as if the ring was in a more appropriate location now, resting just over my heart as my mother and Gina began packing my bags before my father arrived. I appreciated that my mother seemed to understand that I wouldn't want to be there now, and I'd whispered for Gina to burn my sheets as I shuffled to the laundry room, where my main set was waiting for me in the dryer._

 _My father arrived and I immediately ran to him and collapsed into his arms; he gripped me tightly, and I felt him lift his head ever so slightly as I sensed my mother behind us. I could picture her shaking her head, telling him that all I needed now was comfort, and he painstakingly took me down to his car, promising to have someone take my car back to our house. I didn't mind—I curled up into a fetal position in the back seat, appreciative of my parents and roommate lugging all my things into the back of my car._

 _I hadn't nearly experienced an episode quite like this, not since Jake had taken what he did from me—those were tied for first place. A close second—a close second—was when Gina had accidentally left the door open once while we were moving some new furniture into the living room back when I'd first moved in. My precious Arabella had managed to get outside, and out the hallway window, which led to a ledge and an emergency fire escape; she'd been promptly run over—an accident—in the alley below. I always shot down everyone's suggestions to get a new dog, and the subject hadn't been brought up since._

 _My parents thanked Gina outside the car for all her help and came back into the car—Dad in the front and Mom in the passenger, so I knew he'd probably been at work and they'd stayed in the penthouse the night before or something. They then stopped by the penthouse, and they explained that she'd be getting in her car and driving herself back to the house, and I merely made a noise to indicate that I'd heard them and understood. I resumed my fetal position in the back of the car, resting my head against the fine leather interior, and just shutting my eyes, not wanting communication whatsoever._

 _When we'd arrived back at the house, I peered through my fingers, shuddering as soon as I laid eyes on Viktoriya. My father sighed, telling me he understood and that something was going to be done about her. He helped me from the back of the car, and I felt Viktoriya's eyes boring into me, almost as if demanding to know why I was there. We didn't have to wait long, however, for the holy terror to begin peppering everyone who would listen with questions._

 _"Daddy, why is she here?" came Viktoriya's indignant question as my father helped me inside the house. "Daddy? Why?"_

 _"Not now, Viktoriya," my father replied, leading me inside and up the staircase in the direction of my bedroom. He opened the door, and I was completely shocked that Viktoriya hadn't taken it over._

 _"Daddy!" Viktoriya cried out, obviously impatient, as I let my father go and went to sit in the window embrasure. "Why is she here?!" she demanded, stamping her foot in a moment of anger._

 _"Viktoriya, that's enough," my father said firmly._

 _"No!" she yelled. "Tell me!"_

 _I snapped my head in Viktoriya's direction, and, to her credit, she wiped the smug expression off her face and replaced it with a shocked one. "You need to seriously stop this," I said, deathly calm. I got to my feet, legs shaking, and made my way towards her. "I am sick and tired of your manipulative attitude. Like it or not, this is my family, and you're done here."_

 _"Sweetheart..." my father said softly._

 _"Dad, no," I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. "They're getting rid of you and they're keeping me. They should've done it a long time ago, but they decided to try it out with you. It didn't work, but I guess what can be said is that you tried your best to make a perfect family. One with one adopted child—one spoiled princess. I hope this isn't a disappointment to you, Viktoriya, but I'm the only adopted child this family needs. Your services are no longer needed. Now, go pack up your things and get out."_

 _"Mommy!" Viktoriya screamed, turning at the sound of the creak on the stairs as my mother came upstairs. "Tell me I'm dreaming! Tell me Edythe is just here for more of her stuff—that's all she really cares about anyway!"_

 _"Viktoriya, you can't mean that," my mother said gently._

 _She shook her head. "I do! She's awful! I hate her!"_

 _My mother looked angry at that. "We don't hate anyone. Hunter was right—your behavior these past few months has been inexcusable. I'm sorry, but we're calling the foster agency and sending you away."_

 _I watched as my father took Viktoriya by the arm and pulled her towards her room, and my mother following in their wake. I shut my bedroom door behind them, and made my way towards my bed. I lay down upon it; with the lights, off, it was almost as if night had fallen. I turned over on my side and felt more tears coming then, and I never thought I'd escape the constant blackness around me..._

 _"Thank you, Damien," Lincoln said to our favorite waiter as he put our steaks in front of us._

 _"You're welcome, Lincoln, Edythe," Damien said, flashing us each a smile before going back to his station._

 _"Looks good," I commented, cutting into the slab of meat, and savoring the medium-rare scent wafting into my nostrils._

 _"Had an interesting call at the office this afternoon," Lincoln put in, taking a bite of his steak, chewing and swallowing._

 _"Oh?" I asked. "Aren't those things usually confidential?"_

 _"No, not in this situation—it was a would-be client, not an official one," Lincoln explains patiently. "It was Kassandra."_

 _I nearly choke on the bite of steak before forcing myself to chew a bit more before swallowing it. "What did she want?"_

 _"Legal advice," Lincoln said. "I recorded the conversation if you want to hear it—I don't want there to be any secrets."_

 _I smile at him. "Thank you," I reply. "What sort of legal advice?"_

 _"Do you want the short version or the unabridged version?"_

 _I force myself not to laugh. "Short," I tell him. "The unabridged one can come later, if I decide I'm not satisfied with the short version. Then I can just listen to your phone call."_

 _"Touché," Lincoln replies. "She essentially told me that she impulsively married this French duke who, it turned out, wasn't really a duke."_

 _"Let me guess—she wants him convicted of fraud for misrepresentation?" I ask, flashing him a smile._

 _"Exactly," Lincoln tells me._

 _I lower my eyes, shaking my head. "Your job is so easy to read sometimes," I say, shaking my head._

 _"Sometimes," he remarks softly._

 _After I'd graduated from police academy, one of New York's top stories was how an attorney billionaire had decided to date an ordinary police officer. Sure, her parents were plenty decorated in their field, but this one young woman hadn't yet established herself. So, everyone wondered—Forbes, People, US Weekly—and any talk show host that comes to mind, Ellen, Fallon, Kimmel, all wanted to know what on earth someone like Lincoln Beckett would see in a little police officer by the name of Edythe Grayson._

 _I'd gone to a nondescript steakhouse that was all done up in an impressive Spanish style; my parents had been more than a little shocked at Lincoln's interest in me, but had urged me to go out to dinner with him. Amid Livi, Donnie, and Mason demanding to know why I wouldn't be joining them for dinner, I followed Lincoln to his town car—sleeker than ever—where Jensen was waiting for us. Jensen tipped his cap to me, his deep brown eyes kind as he extended his ebony hand towards my pale one._

 _"Miss Grayson, an honor to see you again."_

 _I smiled, shaking his hand. "You too, Jensen," I reply._

 _Jenson smiled, opening the door for us, leaving Lincoln to thank him as the pair of us slipped inside the vehicle. As he got into the driver's seat, he automatically put up the privacy glass—apparently, he knew the city like the back of his hand and knew exactly where to go._

 _That was the first night we went out; the first night was typical, and he didn't even comment on my uniform, although I have it on good authority that he later thought the whole arrangement very sexy. After we'd dated for about three months, he decided we were serious enough that he revealed something which I would deem to be very important._

 _"I want you to meet my family this evening," he said to me levelly, after picking me up from a day on patrol._

 _"Your sister?" I asked, confused. "I thought you were an only child and that your parents..."_

 _"That's what the media thinks," he replied. "In reality, my mother and father were each married once before the other, and my father also had a child out of wedlock, and I like to keep everyone out of the media..."_

 _I nod. "All right. So, you have siblings?"_

 _Lincoln nods. "Yes. My mother had a son, Andrew, and my father also had a son named Barney. As for my father's child out of wedlock—from what a momentary indiscretion, his words not mine, from my mother—is a daughter, Henrietta." He takes a breath. "My oldest brother, Barney, is a software designer, but I don't understand his work much to tell you much about it, other than his company, Flex, is a rival to Apple, Microsoft, and Windows. Then, there's my middle brother, Andrew, is an investment banker, one of those corporate, big-shot executives with a massive, top-floor office with a view of the New York skyline. And, finally, my youngest sibling, Henrietta; she was born and educated in Paris, and speak French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese. She's a dentist and one of the top-rated ones in the area; she took her mother's maiden name, so it's Dr. Henrietta Spencer. My brothers are Barney Beckett—unfortunate, I know—and Andrew Parker, because he took my mother's first husband's name."_

 _I nod at him. "I see," I say softly. "Well, I look forward to meeting them." As we proceeded to drive the speed limit, I suddenly realized something drastically important. "Listen, I don't know where you intend on taking me, Lincoln, but I'm still kind of in my police uniform and I'm not technically supposed to be on duty anymore today..."_

 _He nods. "We can stop by your apartment if..."_

 _"No." I shake my head. "I moved out last summer, remember? I live with my parents in Westchester County now."_

 _"Damn," Lincoln says, shaking his head. "Sorry. I have so much on my mind with all these cases—it's peak season for a lawyer now. Shoot... Westchester County is not exactly Manhattan's backyard," he said, pursing his lips. He leans forward, tapping a bit on the security glass so Jensen lowers it. "Jensen, please drive us to Wolford," he says, naming a luxury boutique nearby._

 _"Of course, Mr. Beckett," Jensen replies, bringing the glass back up._

 _"Lincoln, you don't..." I begin._

 _Without speaking to me, he taps upon the security glass again. "Please call the Tiffany & Co. on Madison Ave.," Lincoln tells Jensen. "Have them have pick up the pearl pendant in a sterling silver," he says._

 _"Of course, Mr. Beckett," Jensen says._

 _"Thank you, Jensen," Lincoln replies, leaning back as the security glass is closed before taking my hand._

 _"Lincoln, listen to me. I was just pointing out that I was in uniform because I didn't want to risk being inappropriate in front of your family. I know how much this means to you and I wouldn't want to look..."_

 _Lincoln turns to face me then and kisses me, hard, on the mouth. "Listen, Edythe—you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Nothing could ever run the risk of being inappropriate when it comes to you. I told you I loved you for the first time approximately three weeks and two days ago, and I meant it. I love you, Edythe Grayson, and I want to outfit you in style. Besides," he says, putting his arm around me. "It's not like I can't afford it."_

 _After the wonderful steak dinner—which really hit the spot—Lincoln and I got back into the car with Jensen and drove to Lincoln's penthouse in Tribeca, about half an hour away from our usual dinner haunt. I'd once peeked at a bank statement for the place when Lincoln had left it lying around, and my jaw had hit the floor—it was a twenty-six-million-dollar place, and he'd bought it outright on his eighteenth birthday with less than an eighth of his initial inheritance. I quickly re-shuffled the paperwork and pretended like I hadn't seen anything._

 _Jensen let us out of the car as soon as we'd parked in the underground parking garage, and escorted us to the chrome double doors of the elevators. He pressed the button that was marked_ _LINCOLN BECKETT_ _—there was a code to be put in for every member of the household who lived in the building, and only Lincoln, Jensen, Fairfield, Thompson (Lincoln's chef), and I had access to the code. I had been given the code just after I accepted Lincoln's second marriage proposal, and now that I was living here permanently._

 _"I can't wait until we can get it changed," Lincoln said, his arm firmly around my waist as we stepping into the open elevator._

 _"Hmmm?" I asked. He smiled down at me; a six-feet-four, he was an impressive foot taller than me, and it was intimidating, at first; now, it just seemed as if he could protect me from anything that crossed our paths. "The name plates," he replied patiently. "I want it to say_ _LINCOLN & EDYTHE BECKETT_ _. Don't you?"_

 _I give him a half smile. "Shouldn't it be alphabetical?" I ask him. "And who said I was going to take your name?"_

 _"Are you going to take my name?"_

 _I smile up at him. "Yes, I'm going to take your name—privately, I'm not sure about my work environment, but we'll see about that. But, about the name plate being alphabetical..."_

 _Lincoln mulls it over. "Well, we will have to rip the whole thing out and start over again. I'll talk to the building manager."_

 _"_ _You're_ _the building manager," I say, putting my head upon his shoulder._

 _"That's right, I am."_

 _"And what does he say?" I ask him._

 _Lincoln looks down at me, grinning. "He says yes," he replies, just as the elevator doors open, and Fairfield is there, as always, waiting for us._

 _"Good evening, Mr. Beckett," he says to Lincoln. "Good evening, Miss Grayson," to me. "May I take your bags?"_

 _"Thank you, Fairfield," Lincoln replies, and we hastily retrieve our phones from them before they're sent to our respective closets. "Tell Thompson we ate out tonight so he's got the rest of the night off."_

 _"Yes, Mr. Beckett," Fairfield replies. "Thompson wanted me to remind you of his and his husband's plans for the weekend."_

 _"Ah, yes, their son's school trip," I say, squeezing Lincoln's hand._

 _"Yes, of course," Lincoln says. "Of course, we arranged this a few weeks ago. He has off until Tuesday."_

 _"Very good, sir," Fairfield says. "Thompson has left for the evening—assuming you went out—but he's left meals in the fridge and freezer up until Tuesday afternoon, when he should be back to attend to the both of you."_

 _I smile at him; Fairfield was such a kind man, truly; he was of Hispanic decent and still had the accent, yet his English was on-point, due to his constant studying of the language from the time he was a small child. "Thank you, Fairfield," I say to him, and he flashes me a smile with perfect teeth._

 _"You're welcome, Miss Grayson," he replies._

 _"Well, I have a conference call in fifteen minutes and Edythe, I'm sure, will want to FaceTime or Skype with her parents before she goes to bed," Lincoln says after a moment of silence. "And Gina... Do you want to speak to Gina?"_

 _"Of course," I tell him. "Right," he says, smiling at me, his soft grip palpable upon my waist, claiming me as his woman. "Well, if you two gentlemen want to retire, please do. Remember to set the codes for the alarms and if you want to go out, feel free. I will see the two of you in the morning," he says._

 _"Yes, Mr. Beckett," Jensen says._

 _"Goodnight, sir, madam," Fairfield says._

 _"Goodnight to both of you," I call over my shoulder as Lincoln and I walk through the foyer, past the kitchen, through the living room, and up the grand staircase which led, obviously, to the second floor._

 _Lincoln had his large study at one end of the hall, and I've got mine on the other, all done up in our favorite wood—his, oak, and mine, cherry. One of the rooms along the hallway is his home gym, while the largest one is our bedroom, which I had redecorated upon my moving in. Another one of the rooms was the massive library, where we frequently found ourselves lost among the books; my favorite spot was either the finely upholstered armchairs by the massive fireplace, or the window embrasure, which boasted the most impressive view of the Hudson River I'd ever seen._

 _I remembered being in total and complete shock when one whole floor—below the main floor—was a whole spa; the pool was always ready for our use, as was the jacuzzi, and he had people come in as many times as we wanted per month for massages. There was also a sauna down there, which Lincoln and I had used on many evening nights after a swim. On the other side of the floor was a salon where he had on-call fashion designers if we had a big event to attend._

 _"How's Gina today?" Lincoln asks as we make our way towards our master suite, which contained two giant walk-in closets, two separate bathrooms, two flat screens, and a California king sized bed; it had cherry wood four posters, plus a canopy and curtains. The room also boasted two massive bay widows on either side of the bed, just beyond our nightstands._

 _"She was a bit scattered when we texted this afternoon," I confess as we step inside, and I feel instant relief as I take off my heels. "It was her first day in court as first chair."_

 _"Really?" Lincoln asks._

 _I nod. "Yeah—I guess Rafael thought she was ready. After eighteen months of being an associate, she passed the bar and he let her be his second chair at all his court cases. Now, she's a first chair, and Rafael was in there with her to make sure that she didn't flub anything."_

 _"Considerate," Lincoln puts in. "You don't think Rafael and Gina...?"_

 _I look around, biting my lip. "Okay, all I know is this—they went out for drinks near Christmas last year and they had a few too many and had sex. She took the morning after pill and it was never mentioned again. Apparently, ADA Barba keeps himself in check."_

 _"No STD's?" Lincoln wants to know._

 _I shake my head. "Working for SVU will do that to you..."_

 _"How are you going to tell your parents?"_

 _"Tell them what?" I ask casually, turning around so as he can unzip the back of the casual dress I'd been wearing that evening._

 _"That you put in for your paperwork for immediate transfer—pending the results of your exam—to Homicide."_

 _I sigh, pulling the rest of my dress off and rolling my shoulders. "I don't know—I just with the knowledge that I myself classified as a special victim was just a little too much for me. Besides, I don't want to work with my technical grandmother potentially breathing down my neck. And besides, my mother had a sexual relationship with one of their former detectives before she married my father, and another one of them—Fin?—he arrested me when I was a teenager."_

 _"I thought you forgave him," Lincoln point out._

 _"Of course, I did—once my record was expunged," I reply. "Now, it's back to the way it was, with him as my second dad-like figure. But I never want to wake up in a jail cell again."_

 _Lincoln puts his arms around me then, and it is at that moment that I feel myself shaking. "Shh, shh, it's okay," he says softly._

 _"I'm sorry," I whisper, the tears pricking at my eyes. "I love you so much and I feel so safe with you, it's just that..."_

 _He pulls back, getting a good look at my face. "I know—you feel as if you're betraying Baxter. I get it, really."_

 _"I'm just so glad you don't hate me for being in love with my uncle at one time in my life..."_

 _"Hey," he says, "he was your adopted uncle by marriage and you were over eighteen. Even though he was married, I hardly see a crime committed here, especially after what you told me about his wife..."_

 _I roll my eyes. "Ah, yes, my aunt Stella. She tried to get me not to show up at the funeral, siting a clause Baxter had put into the will that only those mentioned in the will and who showed up for the funeral would get the money. I didn't go for the money—hell, I barely even knew anything about it, and I didn't think he'd go through with changing his will like that. I think that's what all those lawyers saw that when I testified, and that's why I got all that money that I'll more than likely never spend..."_

 _"You don't need that money, any of it," Lincoln replies, turning me around and rubbing my shoulders as I lean into him. "Tell you what—as soon as we're married, we can set up half for a trust fund for our children, and the other half for a foundation."_

 _"A foundation?" I ask. "For what?"_

 _"Anything you want," he replies._

 _"Victims of child sexual abuse—or any kind of abuse," I reply, instantly._

 _Lincoln tightens his grip on me, pulling me closer, his arms stealing around my waist. "I know wanting to murder is wrong, and wishing death upon others is wrong, but seriously, if it were up to me, I'd see to it that Jake son of a bitch is knifed in his jail cell for those unspeakable things he did to you..."_

 _I lean back and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for prefacing it that way," I say softly to him. "I know. I've often thought about it myself—but he's nothing to me. I was adopted quickly and by a wonderful family. And then I met you and now everything is complete."_

 _"Not yet," Lincoln replies. "First, we need the good news that you've passed the detective's exam. Then, we'll plan our wedding and be married. Then, you'll be so valuable to the department and raise the ranks and maybe someday, you'll take it over from your mother..."_

 _"Hmmm," I say, smiling to myself. "Captain Edythe Beckett. Has a pretty good ring to it, doesn't it?" I ask him._

 _Lincoln, his arms still around my waist, kisses my cheek. "It sounds like the best thing in the world," he replies._

 _Three weeks later, I ask Henrietta if she would like to get some lunch with me and, since she is her own boss, eagerly accepts. I am waiting in a wine bar for her, a glass of Pinot Noir in front of me upon the marble surface, when she taps me on the shoulder. Turning, I get a good look at my sister-in-law-to-be—she wears a pale blue dress which goes well with her honey brown eyes and curly, honey-blonde hair, and was very pleased to see me._

 _"Sister-almost!" she said, throwing her arms around me._

 _"Hello to you, too, Henrietta," I say, getting to my feet and returning her hug. "I guess we should get to our table."_

 _"Come," she says, and I hastily grab my wine and follow her._

 _Henrietta is two years older than me at twenty-six, to Lincoln's twenty-seven, Andrew's thirty-one and Barney's thirty-four. We go and sit at our table, where Henrietta orders a lemonade and places her hands upon the table. "Have you made any wedding plans, yet?"_

 _I nod. "Yes, actually. But, don't hate me..."_

 _Henrietta smiles. "Gina's going to be your Maid of Honor?"_

 _I nod. "Yes," I confess._

 _Henrietta puts her mauve-colored fingernail hand upon mine. "Don't be ridiculous, my dear—she's your best friend. I understand."_

 _"But, I would like you to be my Bridesmaid," I reply._

 _Henrietta smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot. I accept."_

 _"And my sister, Livi, will be the Flower Girl," I continue. "And we've decided that Donnie and Mason will be the Ring Bearers, and Andrew and Barney will be my fiancé's Best Men."_

 _"Things certainly are coming together," Henrietta puts in, as the waitress arrives with her lemonade and she thanks her, her eyes roving up and down her body for a moment before the woman leaves, slightly flustered and aroused. "I've got to tell you—I love my brother, but I could never marry a man. Just last week, I very nearly seduced my receptionist—couldn't help myself."_

 _I nearly choke on my wine in laughter. "Oh, dear. You've certainly got it bad, don't you?" I ask._

 _She nods. "I certainly do. And Leia is always asking me, 'Mommy, why don't I have a daddy?' and when I explain to her that the only thing she'll be getting is a second mommy—if anything—she throws a fit."_

 _"Leia!" I say loudly, and Henrietta nearly loses control of her drink. "I want Leia to be my second Flower Girl, please! She and Livi get along so well and I just want to include everyone I can..."_

 _Henrietta smiles, touched. "She'll love that."_

 _"But, back to Leia," I say, shaking my head. "She does realize she was conceived by a sperm donor, right?"_

 _"Yes—back when I was twenty-two and insecure," Henrietta replies. "And now she's encroaching on the age of five and I'm at my wits end. Yes, she got accepted into kindergarten a year early but she's so astute that it drives me crazy sometimes and I just..."_

 _"Need to blow off some steam?"_

 _"Exactly!" Henrietta replies, setting down her lemonade and opening her menu. "I am so glad you picked this place. It's been open for eight months and I've been waiting to try it, just not alone. Having a sister is going to be amazing..."_

 _"Well, as you know, I took leave from work pending the results of the detective's exam," I reply, looking over my own menu._

 _"How's that going?" Henrietta asks. "Any news yet?"_

 _I shake my head. "No, but the call could come through any day now. My case has been pre-approved for 'top priority' because I'm a legacy, meaning that my parents are still working for law enforcement, so they'll look at my exam first and let me know as soon as possible. Ooh, mac and cheese," I say softly, seeing that one of the entrées is a baked mac and cheese made primarily with sharp cheddar, one of my favorites._

 _"Well, I'm rooting for you—no dentist pun intended," Henrietta said, her eyes flashing a momentary green. "You'd be an awesome detective." I return her smile. "Thank you," I reply, when, suddenly, my phone buzzes. "Oh, I'm sorry," I say, my hands dipping into my purse to fetch my phone. I move to switch it off, when I quickly notice that it is the exam institute. "It's probably my test results," I say, my eyes looking up at Henrietta._

 _"Answer it!" she demands, lowering her menu._

 _I suck in my breath, immediately pressing the green phone icon. "This is Edythe Grayson," I say into the phone._

 _"Yes, hello. Officer Edythe Grayson?"_

 _"That's me," I reply._

 _"Yes, hello. This is Robyn Donahue at the NYPD Federal Exam Bureau. We're calling to let you know that we've finalized and received your results for your detective's exam."_

 _"Yes?" I ask._

 _"I'm pleased to announce that you've passed the exam excellently, and that you are now officially Detective Edythe Grayson. Your promotion_ _will include a transfer to the section and division of your choice—Manhattan Homicide. Congratulations, Miss Grayson."_

 _"Thank you, thank you, Ms. Donahue!" I say._

 _"You're welcome, Miss Grayson. Bye now," she replies, hanging up._

 _I meet Henrietta's expectant expression, whereupon I reach across the table and grip her by the hands. "I'm a detective!" I cry out._

 _Henrietta gets to her feet, pulling me up with her. She throws her arms around me tightly, and we take a moment just to squeal and to celebrate, engaging in sisterly behavior, and practicing for the future._


	7. Eye for an Eye

Chapter Seven: Eye for an Eye

I'd been given the option by the department to take the rest of my allotted vacation time until September, or begin at Manhattan Homicide effective immediately and take my vacation time with me. I decided for the latter; as it was a mid-afternoon on a Friday, I decided to start on Monday. In high spirits, I finished my lunch with Henrietta, and the car took her back to the office. As Lincoln was expected to be in the office until six daily, I was given Jensen's services; ever since the second engagement had been confirmed, as well as the co-habitation arrangement and some wedding plans had been finalized, Lincoln gave me full access to his bank account and he would delight in coming home to find that I had been shopping for some of my days.

I pressed the button to lower the security glass to speak to Jensen; I'd always liked his calm, no-nonsense attitude, and I found I appreciated it when he had warmed to me so quickly. "Jensen, I want you to know that I got my results of the detective's exam this afternoon while I was at lunch with Henrietta."

"Yes, Miss Grayson?" Jensen asked, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a fleeting moment before returning to the road.

"Yes, and I've passed the exam," I tell him. "I will be starting the position next Monday, so I would like to do some shopping in between now and picking up Lincoln from work later."

"Of course, Miss Grayson," Jensen replies. "Anywhere in particular?"

"Where would you suggest, Jensen?" I ask him, leaning forward ever so slightly in my seat. "After all, I'll need to wear good quality suits on the daily."

Jensen nodded, contemplating. "Well, MM. LaFleur is quite wonderful—Henrietta shops there a few times a month herself. It's in the Village, so it's on our way to the penthouse if you would like."

I grinned at Jensen and clapped my hands. "Sounds wonderful, Jensen! Thank you!" I crowed. "Oh, and Jensen?"

"Yes, Miss Grayson?"

"Don't feel the need to bring up the security glass unless I'm taking a confidential phone call. I would love to speak to you, if I'm alone in the car."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure, Miss Grayson?"

"Lincoln obviously hired you because your background check was sufficient, as well as your professional background. He obviously trusts you with me. And besides, if Lincoln and I are going to be married, I'd like to get to know the members of the staff better, as you'll be my staff soon, too."

Jensen looks touched. "Of course, Miss Grayson," he replies.

"Then, let's get to know each other," I proclaim.

"Of course, Miss Grayson," he says.

"How old are you, Jensen?" I ask him.

He chuckles, navigating himself carefully along the road. "I'm forty-two, Miss Grayson. And I know that you're twenty-five."

I nod. "That's right. Where were you born?"

"Chicago," he replies. "I graduated with above-average grades from high school and, since they were pretty normal, no colleges wanted me. I enlisted in the Marines and became a General," he says, modestly, even though it was a very impressive honor. "I managed to take classes at Northwestern University in my free time. I got a Master's Degree in Security Management and worked as a security guard at local clubs and things like that for several years after I got an honorable discharge after fifteen years of service to my country. That's when I started working for Homeland Security."

"How did you meet Lincoln?" I ask him.

"At O'Hare Airport," he replies. "He was coming back to New York following the death of his parents. He'd been in Los Angeles securing a deal—that was the cover story, at least; in actuality, he was taking a break. His team suggested that he get flights with several layovers so the press wouldn't be able to track him down as easily. He flew from Los Angeles to Phoenix, then from Phoenix to Topeka, and then Topeka to Chicago. His last flight was from O'Hare to LaGuardia, and he was about to get into the VIP security line when suddenly, he was ambushed by a combination of press, and people there to kidnap him, mixed in with the press. I saw the whole thing going down and got in there, dragging him out and away from all that while his team stood by, helpless. When Mr. Beckett asked my name, I told him, and he was happy that I didn't know who he was—at the time, I didn't. He took me back to New York with him—he had his family's private jet waiting—and kept me in a guest wing, working out my personal and professional background check as I waited for my things to arrive. I passed everything, and he offered me top position on his team; he'd fired everyone else—they were his father's workers and he wanted to decide for himself—and he wanted to build an entirely new team and he picked me."

"You saved his life," I breathe.

Jensen smiles. "All part of my job, I suppose. Any more questions?"

"Yes," I reply. "Just one—what's your first name?"

"William," he says.

I'd even managed to find a lovely dress that evening for dinner; it was always implied that Lincoln and I would go out for dinner on Friday nights. I finished after about an hour at MM. LaFleur, who told me that they would overnight ship all my tailored suits over to the penthouse by Sunday evening. I thanked them profusely for rushing the order before walking back to the car with Jensen, who was always on standby. It wasn't even five o'clock yet, so I told Jensen that I would like to return to the penthouse beforehand and to change into my new dress for dinner before picking Lincoln up.

Jensen opened my door for me before taking my purchases and putting them into the trunk. We drove along the street, making small talk until we arrived at the penthouse just a few minutes away. Jensen lets me out of the car and I thank him, rounding the back of it with him to assist in fetching my purchases. We walk to the elevator together, the chrome double doors dinging as they open before us, and step onto the carpeting that is very much like an antique Persian rug. We remain silent throughout the journey and arrive on the main floor, walking through the doors and into the entryway.

"How are you, Miss Grayson?" Fairfield asks, coming towards us.

"Fine, thank you, Fairfield," I reply. "Were there any calls or messages while I was out this afternoon?"

"One from your mother, Miss Grayson," Fairfield says, following me just ahead of Jensen as we make our way through the entryway. "She received word that you passed your detective's exam and was wondering if you and Mr. Beckett could do Sunday brunch with her and your father."

"Does Lincoln have anything pressing that day?" I ask him.

"No, ma'am—he had a golf game, but Michael Waterston suddenly got called to Europe due to a family emergency," Fairfield explains. "I've asked Mr. Beckett if the idea would be agreeable to him, and it is, pending your approval, of course, and he's not contacted your mother directly."

"Thank you, Fairfield," I reply. "I'll just pop most of these over to the dry cleaner after changing for dinner..."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Fairfield replies. "I'll handle them for you, Miss Grayson, never fear. Mr. Beckett has an excellent dry cleaner that can do the work in less than twenty-four hours. He has an account there, which includes a complimentary delivery service. When do you need your things by?"

"No later than Sunday night," I reply.

"Wonderful," Fairfield says.

"Why don't I gather the things I'll need dry cleaned, separate them out, and have them for you before I leave to get Lincoln from work?"

"That would be fine, Miss Grayson, fine." He nods to all the bags. "Somehow, I think you would have a better grasp of what needs to be where."

I giggle. "Thank you, Fairfield," I reply, and Jensen and I head upstairs towards the master suite. I open the door, flicking on the light as I go. "You can put the bags upon the vanity table, please, Jensen," I tell him.

"Very good, ma'am," Jensen replies, and waits for me to face him after I've put the bags I'd been carrying upon my bed. "If you don't mind, ma'am, I have a few calls to make on Mr. Beckett's behalf. If you would excuse me..."

"Of course, Jensen," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to keep you..."

"You didn't, I assure you, Miss Grayson," he tells me. "I'll be ready to take you to Mr. Beckett's office in an hour."

I flash Jensen a smile. "Thank you, Jensen," I reply, and watch him leave.

I then shut and lock my door when I sense that he's far enough away that I'm not kicking him out. I then sift through my bags, finding my new dress for that night, and judge that it would be all right for me to wear it. I'd made a quick stop at Wolford on the way home, selecting a cream-pink colored dress which was quite flowy, with no sleeves and a high collar. I'd pair it with my pink strappy heels, as well as my mother's engagement ring. I then set out everything for the evening and promptly head into my en suite bathroom and walking towards my shower. I swipe the fan on and the light and manipulate the water temperature to my liking before proceeding to strip down and step inside the cubicle.

After my shower, I blow dry my hair before putting it securely into curlers. I step out into my bedroom, relieved that I still have twenty minutes. I manage to get my dress over my head easily, knowing that Lincoln will probably want to take it off me himself later. The thought sends a delicious tremor up my spine as I adjust my engagement ring and slip into my heels before returning to the bathroom. I make quick work of completing my hair and makeup before taking out my curlers, and then I return to my bedroom. I retrieve my matching pink clutch, complete with ID, keys, and cell phone before leaving my bedroom and making my way down to the main floor.

"Jensen!" I call out. "Are you around?"

"Yes, Miss Grayson? You're ready to go?" he asks, coming from the hallway where his bedroom is located.

"Yes, Jensen. All ready," I reply.

Jensen smiles as he looks me up and down. "You look lovely, if I may say so, ma'am," he tells me.

I return his smile. "You may," I reply.

"Ready to go get Mr. Beckett, then, ma'am?" he asks.

"Yes, please," I say.

We say goodbye to Fairfield before leaving the entryway and returning to the elevator. We make our way down and into the underground parking garage before getting into the town car and onto the main street. I watch as Jensen keys in Lincoln's office address in Chelsea, consulting traffic reports and figuring out what would be the best way to get there. He finds a good way and we set out, making small talk until we pull up at the office.

"We're a bit early, ma'am," Jensen tells me. "Would you like to wait?"

"Does he have a meeting?" I ask him.

"Last one was due to end twenty minutes ago," he replies.

I nod. "I'll head in, if you don't mind, Jensen. I'd like to surprise him, if that's all right with you."

He smiles. "I should think Mr. Beckett would enjoy that, Miss Grayson. You go along in and I'll be here."

"Thank you," I reply.

I open the door and step out onto the sidewalk, making my way towards the revolving door of the building. I smile at the receptionists on the bottom floor, and they don't ID me, familiar with who I am as I make my way over to the set of elevators and press the button. Once inside, I click the button to the fifty-seventh floor, the topmost in the impressive skyscraper, and listen to the mundane elevator music as I make my way to the top. The stereotypical ding sounds fills my ears less than a minute later, and I step out of there and make my way at a normal pace towards the lobby.

"Hello, Edythe!" calls Joan, Lincoln's senior secretary as she gets to her feet, a bright smile on her face. She has creamy-white skin and a shock of long, dark red hair which goes to her waist; that afternoon, she sports a lovely white blouse and a dark green pencil skirt, along with standard black heels. "I suspect you're here to see Lincoln."

I grin at her; Joan had told me that the three junior secretaries—Pippa, Victoria, and Adelaide—flirted a big game with Lincoln, but the flirting had subsided ever since our second engagement. I peeked over at them for half a moment, and they all three immediately became blue eyes-deep in their desktop computers, ashamed at their behavior. "Yes, I'm here to see Lincoln," I reply, quickly turning back to look at Joan. "Is he in his office?"

"Yes. Go right in," Joan says, smiling and nodding for me to go to towards the walnut door.

Stepping inside, I immediately spot Lincoln taking a phone call, his back to me in his impressive, fine leather desk chair. Upon hearing the door shut behind him, he peers around it, and his eyes light up at the sight of me. He holds up his finger and proceeds wrapping up the phone call as I make my way over to the west wall, which is completely made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, as well as the north and east wall. I peer out of one window, admiring the impressive architecture of the other skyscrapers around us and sigh ever so slightly as Lincoln—who has since wrapped up his phone call—crosses the office and almost immediately puts his arms around my waist.

"I take it you missed me," he states then, moving some of my hair to the side and putting his lips to my neck.

"So much," I say softly, my knees proceeding to shake and my eyes beginning to roll back into my head.

Lincoln chuckles at the effect he still has on me. "I made the two of us reservations somewhere special tonight—your last night of freedom," he says softly, tightening his grip around my waist.

"Where?" I whisper.

"A new Italian place," he whispers softly against my skin. "I know it's your favorite and it was the first time they had a table."

"I'm prepared to eat, if you are," I reply, my hands blindly inching for his belt, so close, and yet so far away.

The alterations and dry cleaning go perfectly, and I make my way across town the following morning, just after Jensen has dropped Lincoln off at work. Jensen assures me that all I need do is say the word, and he will be in the car with Lincoln when I'm finished for the day. I thank him and slip from the car, flashing my new golden badge to the receptionist, who does a double take when she catches my surname, but nods when I put my finger to my lips. I make my way towards the chrome elevator doors and click the correct button; they ding open for me and I step inside, making my way to the proper floor. The doors ding a second time and I step into the hallway, knowing that I must report to my mother first.

I wave hello to all the other detectives, who acknowledge me as is appropriate to the captain's daughter, and point to my mother's office. "Is she in?" I ask.

A door opens on the other side of the unit, and Nate, my mother's second in command, steps out. "Hey, Edythe!" he says, embracing me. "What are you here for today, officer? Want to take your mom out for brunch?"

"Uh, it's 'detective' now," I say, flashing my badge.

Nate, his wife Violette, Melanie and her husband Jimmy, plus other detectives Abi and Chester immediately proceed to applaud. "Very nice," Nate says. "So, you're our new recruit then, I take it? I knew they'd be arriving, but they didn't give us a name..."

"That's on me," I reply. "I kinda wanted it to be a surprise," I say, nodding in the direction of my mother's office.

"Ah, I see," Nate says, smiling. "Well, she's working on some paperwork now but I think she may take a break to see you. Go on in."

"Thanks, Lieutenant Barnes," I say formally.

"No problem, Detective Grayson," he replies.

"Don't get used to it," I call over my shoulder, "it'll be Detective Beckett in just twelve weeks." I walk up to my mother's office door and tap on it, hearing her usual 'come in' before turning the knob and stepping inside.

"Nate, I told you, if the new recruit wants some pointers, you give them to him, or her," my mother says, eyes-deep in her paperwork and not even bothering to look up at me. "God knows there isn't any discernable talent in the police world anymore, and of course they'd send us a bad one..."

I scoff at that, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. "You always were such a charmer, Mother," I say to her, shutting the door behind me and stepping into her office. "You really must look before you assume you know what's going on in the police world—like, your daughter making detective for instance and being the newest recruit for Manhattan Homicide Unit."

My mother raises her eyes to mine, the shock fully apparent in her face as she slowly gets to her feet. "Honey... You made detective?!" she cries, all smiles as she circles her desk quickly and pulls me into her arms. "Look at us!" she says, and pulls away from me, looking me up and down with approval. "Two generations of police detectives... Your father will be so proud."

"Well, technically three," I say, shrugging it off. "Doesn't matter—the point is that I'm here to work. No special treatment."

My mother raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Well, there is the wedding and the honeymoon..."

"Don't worry—your commanding officer before me gave you the time off already and I'm sure all the paperwork will arrive in the next couple of weeks. You'll have the time off for the cruise and whatnot. Just don't _try_ to get pregnant right away, honey—there'll be a lot of cases I'll need you for."

"No promises," I reply. "So, all your detectives are paired off it looks like. Am I going to fly solo, or are you putting me on a preliminary period of desk duty for a few months?"

My mother shakes her head. "No, darling, of course not. You'll have plenty of time to prove yourself, once a call comes in. And besides, we're getting a transfer in this afternoon."

"Two recruits in one day? Mother, such hard work..."

She shrugs. "The call only just came in—I didn't get an opportunity to tell Nate about it yet. While this new recruit will be your partner, I'm afraid you won't be able to sit in. But I will allow you to watch the interview."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I want to know.

"We have three interrogation rooms, correct?"

I nod. "Yes, of course. You took me on a tour of this place more times than I can count, part of the reason why I requested placement here."

"Really?" she asks. "Me being your mother had absolutely nothing to do with your request to be placed here?"

"No, of course not," I reply. "Now, about these three interrogation rooms? What do they have to do with anything?"

"We changed one to be an interview room of sorts," she replies. "The department didn't like that we conducted interviews in my office or Nate's—mine was too imposing and Nate's felt too claustrophobic. And Homicide having one more room than SVU seemed too extreme. So, we split the difference and conduct witness interviews in there, or just job interviews."

"Oh, I see," I reply. "And when is this new detective supposed to arrive on the scene, so to speak?"

My mother checks her watch. "Anytime now, which is why I should show you to your desk and inform Nate." She puts an arm around me and leads me into the squad room, showing me a desk near her office and motioning to Nate, who was in a deep conversation with Violette in the hallway. "Nate?"

He sighs, kissing Violette on the cheek and coming back into the squad room. "Is everything all right, Maggie?" he asks, and I immediately note the informality my mother has with her co-workers.

"Everything okay over there?" she asks, noting Violette's posture as she returns to her desk, opposite mine.

"Fine, yeah," Nate says, his tone clipped. "What's the situation? Did you get a call or something?"

"No, no call," my mother says, stepping across the room with him. "We have a new transfer scheduled," she informs him, business-like. "They should be here in just a few minutes. It wasn't supposed to be until next week, but the date got moved up—the department didn't give me reason, but the new recruit should be here at any time."

"Do you know anything about them?"

"Yeah," my mother replies. "Her name is Noelle McDermott. She's twenty-seven and one in the top of her graduating class from the academy. She was in Hostage Negotiations for two years but wanted a change, so we got her."

"Yeah, I know her," Nate says. "She received a Medal of Honor from the mayor for her public service."

"That's right, she did," my mother says approvingly. "Since she's going to be Edythe's partner, I figured I'd let Edythe watch the interview, if that's no objection to you, of course."

"No, of course not," Nate said. "It would do someone some good to be forewarned about certain situations."

Clearly a jab at his wife, Violette looks distraught and quickly leaves the room. I anticipate where she is going and follow her, down the hall and into the ladies' room. After discovering that we two were alone in there, I gently place my hand onto the stall door and say, "Violette? Hey, it's Edythe. Come on—I've known you for years. If there's a situation, you can tell me."

"Promise you're not spying on your mother's behalf?"

"Spying on her behalf?" I say, scoffing. "Jeez, that's a new one. Why don't you come out of there? Let's talk."

Violette opens her stall door and steps out, washing her hands in a methodic manner before dabbing at her eyes with a paper towel. "Sorry—you really shouldn't be seeing a fellow detective like this."

"Hey, don't be that way," I say, gently touching her shoulder. "We've all got feelings here. Tell me—what's going on?"

"Nate and I barely have time for our family as it is," she tells me softly. "I mean, last Christmas was the first time in a long time that we actually got to get away with our kids. Your mother let us borrow your ski cabin up in Connecticut. It was beautiful and all the kids learned how to ski. One night, when the kids were in bed asleep, Nate and I..."

I smile at her. "You're married and madly in love. No harm in making love with your spouse or with someone you love or both."

"We'd talked about Nate getting a vasectomy," she continues. "The kids are in middle school—well, just started really, but still—and we just wanted to be done with that phase of our lives. Nate got one at New Year's, but I got pregnant during the ski trip. Now he automatically thinks that this baby can't be his. I would never cheat on Nate—I love him."

"Obviously, you got pregnant at Christmas, then," I reply.

"That's what I tried to tell him," Violette replies with a hint of desperation. "But Nate's been so preoccupied with work lately that I think he's lost touch with what his first priorities should be..."

I smile at her. "Well, you just have to communicate that to him," I assure her, putting an arm around her. "Communicate that to him; don't hide in the ladies' room."

We return to the squad room, and Melanie informs me that I'm welcome to go watch the interview. Gratefulness washes through me then; I was going to see what my first-ever detective partner looked like and possibly glean what her attitude would be. I leave Violette at her desk and make my way towards what used to be the third interview room; I turn the dial so as I can hear what's being said, and get a good look at Noelle for the first time.

"Did you enjoy your work in Hostage Negotiations?" my mother asks Noelle in a pleasant tone.

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact," Noelle replies, turning towards my mother and her hair continuing to fall like a red waterfall down her back. "So many people to get to know and I feel it's a necessity to know many different languages on the job so that you're prepared for anything. I remember once I was holed up in a house with a criminal who had a gun on me—we stood off for a dozen hours before the bastard fell asleep and I grabbed the little girl he was holding hostage and got her out of that dangerous environment," she says, shaking her head and lowering her dark green eyes. "He was an ex-marine and there were convictions of domestic violence on him; his wife was in the process of divorcing him, but unfortunately the judge gave them joint-custody. Sometimes the law isn't on the right side, and it's our job to ensure more rights are made than wrongs."

"You mentioned knowing many different languages is beneficial," Nate puts in, leaning forward. "Can you tell us what those are?"

"Of course," Noelle replies. "I'm fluent in French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, Yiddish, Russian, Mandarin, Japanese, and Italian," she says with a smile. "It should also say in my file, but I don't mind saying so."

"What made you want to be a police officer?" my mother wants to know.

"My father was killed in the line of duty," she replies honestly. "I was born and raised in Chicago until I was fourteen; that's when the guy killed my dad. My mom is an attorney, and she works for the same office as ADA Barba."

"Who's your mother?" Nate asks.

"Claudia Abernathy," Noelle replies. "She kept her maiden name."

"Well, if you don't mind, Nate is going to call your former commanding officer while I go over your file," my mother says. "And, if you don't mind, your new partner would like to meet you."

"Of course," Noelle says, and quickly gets to her feet as my mother and Nate do the same. "It was nice meeting you, Captain Grayson, Lieutenant Barnes," she says, shaking each of their hands in turn before my mother and Nate troop out of the room.

My mother walks towards her office while Nate goes into his. She spots me as I walk out from my post outside the interview room and flashes me a smile. "Go on in now, honey," she says, squeezing my shoulder and making her way into her office as I walk around to the main door.

I take ahold of the brass door knob in my hands. "Let's do this," I say softly to myself, and turn the handle and step inside. "Noelle?" I ask.

Noelle, who did not resume sitting, immediately steps forward. "Oh! I wasn't expecting you," she said, clearly in polite shock.

I blink. "Excuse me?" I ask.

Noelle smiles at me. "My younger brother graduated the same year you did at the academy," she explains. "Parker McDermott."

"Oh, of course!" I say, shaking Noelle's hand. "He and I were in the same training unit! Really wonderful cop," I say quickly. "He took the detective's exam the same day I did."

"He passed," Noelle replied.

"What division is he in?"

"Manhattan," she tells me. "He's working in Narcotics, actually."

"Got to have a lot of patience with that one, or so I hear."

"I would think you would need to have a lot of patience," Noelle replies. "You're going to be working under your mother." She regards me then, not unkindly. "Do you resemble your father...?"

I shake my head. "No, actually, I'm adopted."

"Oh!" Noelle says, her hands immediately flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she says, lowering them quickly. "I had no idea—I hope I didn't offend you..."

I shake my head. "Trust me—it takes a lot more than that to offend me. And I know you didn't mean any harm."

Noelle smiles. "I would lie if I said I didn't know anything about you."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? What do you know?"

"No judgement—but your past is deemed to be sketchy," she replies. "And when I say no judgement, I mean no judgement."

"How could you possibly know that?" I want to know.

She sighs, pulling out her chair again and sitting. "You'd best get comfortable, because we're getting to know one another," she says, nodding to the chair my mother had occupied.

I lower myself into it. "All right, I'm comfortable," I say.

"My mother and I were in the courtroom when John Buchanan got you off," she replies. "My mother was shadowing Barba that day in the hopes to get the job in his office. She was studying his strategy in the courtroom to better equip herself to how the New York attorney's office prosecuted."

"And when you say 'no judgement' you mean...?"

"I had a few older boyfriends growing up," she says. "And let's just say that I wasn't altogether upset when my precious father got gunned down."

"Meaning...?" I asked.

She sighs. "My father had dissociative identity disorder," she tells me softly. "One personality was a fun-loving father, totally committed to his family and to his job as a detective in Chicago. Things changed when he was made sergeant, the year I turned nine. My mom was out of town on her annual 'Girl Lawyer Getaway' to Miami Beach and Parker was staying at a friend's house. My babysitter left and my father proceeded to get drunk. He came into my bedroom and he raped me. He didn't sound like himself—smashing things, yelling, screaming, demanding me to take off my clothes..." She shakes her head. "It just wasn't like him. Then my mother began taking trips more and more often, and Parker made more friends, so I was left alone with him more."

"What happened?" I ask, softly.

"I was acting out in my hoity-toity private school to begin with over the next year and a half," she replies. "I would destroy my classwork and my teachers got nervous when the disturbance in my drawings began to escalate. They showed it to the school psychologist, who saw me immediately. She deduced that I was being abused but I refused to tell her about the identity of the person responsible. I finally told her after my thirteenth birthday—it was after I got my period and my dad was beginning to lose interest..."

"How did you get something like that off your chest?"

"Broke down in the middle of the session," Noelle replies. "I was asked about my home life since becoming a teenager—what new privileges I'd gotten, and other things like that. Not much had changed, other than my dad had significantly reduced his assaults of me. I thought there was something wrong with me; he wouldn't look at me and wouldn't talk to me unless he had to. 'Please pass the green beans' or something like that. I broke down and cried and told the therapist that my daddy didn't love me anymore..."

"And that's when you told?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes—I actually knew the proper words for it. Dad called the protection 'rubbers' and I never liked that word, even to this day. When they heard that, they tried to investigate, but the investigation took so long that an ex-cop—now a con—took care of things the old-fashioned way."

I lower my eyes, wanting to know if Noelle had anything to do with the crime, but cannot find the words to ask.

"I know what you're thinking."

My eyes flash to hers. "Do you?"

Noelle scoffs, tracing the deep lines in the table. "Yes. And the answer is 'no'. The Chicago police force hooked me up to a lie detector for Christ's sake. They were initially convinced that an older guy—who was my boyfriend—had done it because I'd asked him to. We both had solid alibies; I told the cops point blank, sure I had cause for _wanting_ him dead, but bottom line, he was my dad, and I'd never do something like that."

"And so why exactly did you want to be a cop?"

Noelle laughs. "Well, mostly so my mother would quit demanding for me to go to law school," she replies. "But it was also due to the other cop who saved my life, effectively. How do I know what would've happened if my dad had lived? Maybe the eventual jury would think that a good old boy cop couldn't possibly be abusing his own daughter. But the bottom line was the fact that I was adopted, too, and I thought by being a cop I could try to piece together where some, if any, of my biological family is."

"Have any leads?" I want to know.

"Just New York," she replies. "That's why my mother moved here when I was a teenager—so that we could find my biological family. But, so far, unfortunately, we haven't found anything."

I reach across the table and take her hand. "Well, good luck," I say.

Noelle looks genuinely touched at my statement. "Thanks," she replies, a spark in her hunter-green eyes.

There is a tap on the door then, and my stomach drops for fear that someone has been watching us. Getting to my feet, I open the door, and Nate is standing there with a smile on his face. Relief immediately flows through me, but I don't allow it to overtake me completely.

"Your commanding officer says we're good to go," Nate says.

"Great," Noelle says, getting to her feet. "So, what now?"

My mother rushes from her office then, completely frantic. "Nate, send two of our guys out," she says, desperation in her voice. "There was a shooting in Midtown and we need two guys on the scene."

"Why not send out Edythe and Noelle?" Nate asks, nodding to the pair of us and turning back to my mother. "They need to prove themselves."

"Great," my mother says, thankful. She hands me a pair of keys. "You've got your badges?" she asks us.

"Yes," I say.

"Yeah," Noelle replies.

"Go on, then," my mother says.

Noelle and I grab our coats and head out of there, going down to the parking garage in the elevator. I click open my mother's car automatically, and get inside, firing up the radio as I step on the gas and drive out of there. "Detective Edythe Grayson, Manhattan Homicide, badge number 4712," I say.

"Detective Noelle McDermott, Manhattan Homicide, badge number 8943," comes Noelle's statement, rapid-fire after mine, as I pull into traffic.

"Heading to Midtown shooting," I say, stepping firmly onto the gas and driving quickly down fifth avenue. We make it there in around ten minutes and I park at an angle and get out of the car, Noelle at my heels. We duck under the rope at the same time, flashing our badges, and seeing some of the bodies have already been moved to the side. "Fin!" I say, recognizing him.

He turns and sighs, obvious gratefulness within him. "Hey, Edythe," he says, briefly pulling me into a hug. "Detective Tutuola," he says, moving to shake Noelle's hand.

"Detective McDermott—pleasure," Noelle says. "Big admirer of you and what you've done for SVU."

"I know your mother," Fin says, smiling at Noelle. "Good lawyer."

"Thank you," Noelle says.

"What do we got?" I ask Fin.

"Mass shooting," he replies. "We're a bit worried, though—Liv took the guy on the run to the back alley. Haven't heard anything, though..."

"I'm on it," I say.

"No, Edythe, you don't have to..."

"Gotta prove myself sometime," I say, taking out my gun from its holster and making my way towards the alley.

I flash my badge again and I see mostly everyone is aware of who I am, so they don't stop me. I head directly into the alley and throw myself up against the concrete wall, stepping slowly and silently along its edge, dodging certain pieces of garbage as I go. Stepping around the bend, I just make out the shooter, dressed in black, who has Olivia in a choke-hold, facing him.

"Listen, I understand your anger," Olivia says. "But all these killings of innocent people—it won't bring any good to any situation. So, just put the gun down," she tells him softly. "I can help you. We'll walk out of here together, and I can get you the help you need..."

 _If I could just shoot him in the hand_ , I think to myself. _If I just shoot him in the hand, he'll release Olivia and then we can get him_... But I'm so focused on Olivia that I don't see the can of beans or beer or whatever it is before my expensive, patent leather shoe contacts with it. _Damn,_ I think to myself, and it is then that the shooter turns his gun on me.

"Don't move," I say, through my teeth.

"Edythe!" Olivia cries in shock.

Several things happen then: The shooter's gun goes off; Olivia kicks him in his boys; I fall to the ground; Olivia tackles him; and I proceed to bleed out onto the very concrete I'm standing on.

"Edythe!" Olivia screams, when she sees me kneeling there, putting pressure upon my wound. "Damn... Oh, my god, what the hell were you thinking?!" she demands of me, shaking her head. "You're an _officer_! You shouldn't even be here, you silly girl..."

I laugh, although it causes me great pain. "Made detective," I wheeze. "Just started at my mom's division today..."

"Hell of a way to start," she says, then sees the blood seeping through my fingers and her eyes go wide. "Not again," she whispers, taking out her walkie-talkie in one fell swoop. "Fin, do you copy?"

"Hear you loud and clear, Liv."

"Fin, we have a detective down."

"Damn," he says. "All in!" he shouts, and I can even hear him from around the bend, followed by a series of footsteps.

Fellow officers swoop in and grab the shooter, and Olivia hauls me up to my feet, but I can barely stand. Fin comes in then and gives Olivia a tight smile. When Olivia tries to walk with me, he puts a hand out.

"I got her," he says, lifting me up effortlessly and carrying me out.

"Olivia," I say, and immediately she is by my side.

"I'm here, sweetheart," she says, moving the hair from my face. "I'm here—do you want me to call someone?"

"Ride with me," I say as I'm loaded into the ambulance.

"Fin?" Olivia asks.

"Go," Fin urges her.

Olivia climbs into the ambulance and sits beside me. "Takes me back," she muses briefly to herself. "Want me to call anyone?"

"My phone's in my pocket," I whisper.

"We need to get oxygen on her now," the EMT states.

"Call Lincoln," I whisper as the oxygen tank is ready. "Then call my parents, please, Olivia," I say softly as I am pulled completely into blackness.


	8. Don't Dream It's Over

Chapter Eight: Don't Dream It's Over

The smell of alcohol hits my nostrils immediately, but I make no move to open my eyes, still physically exhausted from the shooting. My blood type at A-positive is immediately called for a transfusion, and Olivia tells the EMT's that she will willingly give some of her blood to save my life. I say nothing, drifting in and out of sleep until they say they're going to put me into a medically induced coma as I am whisked to the surgery wing; once the injection is given, I am pulled back into the blackness, and I am at peace.

The next thing I feel is pressure on my hand, followed by the beeping of the heart monitor in my ear. My eyelids feel heavy as I force them open, and I am then blinded by the harsh lighting of the room. Looking around, I let out an exhale as I see Lincoln beside me, gripping my hand. Hearing me, he lifts up his head, and my heart aches when I see his eyes are red-rimmed.

"Hey," I say quietly.

Lincoln immediately gets to his feet and kisses me, holding me close to him—well, as close as he can without disturbing the wires of the machines. "I thought I lost you," he whispers. "You scared the hell out of me—out of everyone, really. Please tell me you're okay."

"Didn't the doctors...?"

"You'll be on mandatory bed rest for two weeks and then another two weeks of paid vacation, followed by two weeks of desk duty. Then you have to go in for a physical and, if you pass, you'll be permitted to return to the field," he tells me softly, gripping my hand and steadying himself back onto the hospital chair. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't reluctant for you to do so, but I know it's your choice and I won't hold you back from your dreams."

My grip on his hand tightens. "I'm fine, really. I know it was stupid to go back to that alley—hell, the department will probably have my ass and I'll get a demotion or fired. I'll understand if you want to call off the wedding..."

"What?!" Lincoln demands.

"Well, Lincoln, you'll hardly want an unemployed woman living in your house as your wife," I reply, shrugging, which causes me to grimace in pain. "You need to have a professional, I don't know, supermodel on your arm—"

Lincoln leans forward, taking my face into his hands. "Edythe, look at me," he says firmly. Once my eyes lock with his, he continues, "I love you. Of course I still want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you," he says, placing his forehead against mine. "I wasn't the marrying kind of guy before I met you. You changed me, and I never want the changes to end. You're the woman of my dreams, and if that means you stay at home and raise our children or take over Manhattan Homicide from your mother, I'll fully support you in whatever it is that you want to do with your life."

I blink. "Our children?" I ask.

"You want to have them, don't you?"

I sigh then, knowing that it was now or never. "I... I had..."

"What?" Lincoln asks, moving to sit on the side of my bed and taking his hands in mine. "What is it?"

"I told you about my crazy teen years..."

"Of course, you dated that older guy, were addicted to drugs, and were locked in juvenile detention, until your lawyer got you into a rehab program," he says, taking his finger and running it gently along my knuckles. "I won't judge you—how could I? I'd be a hypocrite."

I smile slightly, lowering my eyes. "Ryder, the older guy I dated, well... He got me pregnant," I say softly.

"How old were you?" Ryder asks.

"Thirteen," I reply. "What with all the abuse at Jake's hands, I never really knew what a healthy relationship was until I met you."

"What happened?"

"That summer, I went on the cruise with my mother," I tell him. "In the weeks leading up to the vacation, I learned Swedish so that I could go into town and get an abortion. Managed to perfect the accent and everything. They didn't even ask to see my passport or anything—I just paid them the cash, got the procedure, got the pain pills, and went on my way."

"And your mother found out before you went to rehab?" he asks. "When you stood up in court and told Judge Donnelly everything?"

"Before that, actually," I reply. "I told John Buchanan and my mother everything in a cell before the hearing."

"Is that all?" Lincoln asks, not unkindly.

"No," I say softly. "You know about my ex, Baxter?"

"Yes," Lincoln says.

I sigh, my thoughts drifting backwards once again...

 _It had been exactly three weeks since Baxter had gone down in the plane crash; I hadn't explained the extent of the relationship to my parents, but somehow, I think they knew. After Mom returned Viktoriya to the adoption agency organization, I spent a great many days on my own. So many hours leading up to my basic training at the police academy were spent in my bedroom, listening to Sia's_ Helium _and other music I had deemed heartbreaking—mostly from the 1980's—and taking out the chain with Baxter's engagement ring on it. So often, the diamond would catch the ray of light which filtered out from behind my thick curtains, all the while I'd slip it on and off my finger, which proved difficult as my eyes frequently blinded by tears._

 _One afternoon in particular will always go down in history as one for the noteworthy books; with my father on an assignment for IAB and my mother taking my brothers and sister to Connecticut for some must-deserved hiking, I'd opted to stay home by myself. Helena would come by periodically from the guest house to check in; she would prepare meals for the week and either freeze or fridge them before going back to her happy life with Sebastian. Sometimes, I'd make a telephone call and order in from various restaurants; I'd charge them by credit card and they were instructed to leave my food upon the front porch—less human interaction that way._

 _After about a week of this, I ventured into the massive basement—which matched the main floor of the house in its shape—which my mother and father had converted to an impressive home gym. It came with a gigantic pool, a track, a sauna, a multi-size trampoline area, weight lifting station, a dance floor which could be used for Zumba or yoga, various elliptical machines and treadmills, ball courts, and a do-it-yourself smoothie bar (which was home to a mini fridge which was constantly filled with fresh fruits and various yogurt flavors weekly by none other than Helena). Flat screens dotted the area, which could be used for cable, and were also hooked up to karaoke or popular radio stations; you could also plug in your phone or iPod to them, while each elliptical machine and treadmills had ports for those as well._

 _One of my mother's summer projects had been knocking down the walls and replacing them with floor-to-ceiling windows—much like those in Lincoln's office, although I did not know that piece of information yet—which looked out onto our land and onto the private lake my father had knocked down a few trees to put in. I got dressed in workout clothes and proceeded my own pre-training regimen for the academy, so as I could be in tip-top shape for the training course. I'd work out for an hour before a proper cool down in the adjacent bathroom/spa, which included a whirlpool bath/jacuzzi, shower unit, plus a station fully equipped with large mirrors and vanity tables—which could be used for blow-drying hair, curling or flat-ironing hair, and various hair ties and brushes and combs for any kind of proper hair maintenance._

 _After my hour work-out about a week before I was due to return to Manhattan for basic training, which just so happened to be whilst my father was on assignment for IAB and my mother was taking my siblings hiking, I heard the doorbell ring. I was wrapped in my robe, post shower, wearing only my flip flops and the necklace which held the ring from Baxter. Lightly cursing myself under my breath, I crossed my fingers that Helena had left her key somewhere as I came up the stairs, holding my dirty work-out clothes, my cell phone, and a strawberry smoothie I'd made. I walked to the main door and peered through the spy hole, automatically feeling my eyebrows raise when I saw who was outside._

 _Opening the door slowly, I forced myself into an expression that could appear as if I was offering condolences. "Hey, Aunt Stella," I say to her, hoping that I sounded somewhat convincing; besides, the will hadn't been read yet, so she couldn't know anything, could she?_

" _Hello, Edythe. Where's the rest of the family?"_

" _Dad's on assignment for work, and Mom took the kids to Connecticut for some hiking," I say._

" _You didn't want to go?" she asks, immediately suspicious._

" _No," I say, knowing that, here at least, I can be honest with her. "No, I have basic training for the academy next week. I'm trying to get into shape before then by working out every day. I just finished a workout," I say._

" _Yes, I noticed the dirty clothes, recently washed hair, and the smoothie," my aunt puts in._

" _Of course," I say, feeling uncomfortable. "Would you like to come in, Aunt Stella? I was going to have some lunch, I could whip something up for the two of us, or we could get take-out..."_

" _I will come in, thank you," Stella says, walking past me and into the house, her power heels clicking on the fine wood floors._

 _I make my way after her, my flip flops squeaking due to my partially wet feet. "I'll get you something to drink," I say, "then I really should change. What can I get you to drink? We have various fruit juices, iced tea, lemonade..."_

" _Iced tea is fine, thank you."_

" _On the rocks?"_

" _Please," my aunt says, leaning up against the counter beside me._

 _I get a large Collins glass from the pantry and get the jug of iced tea from the fridge. Bending to the freezer and opening the drawer, I fetch a good handful of ice cubes before putting them into the glass, and pouring the iced tea on top of them. I say nothing throughout but, just as I am about to raise my hand to hand over the iced tea to my aunt, her hands quickly lash out and grab ahold of something, and I know then what she's reacting to._

" _What's this?" she demands, and yanks hard on the platinum chain I'd gotten for Baxter's engagement ring to me, which had inexplicably come out from between the panels of my robe whilst I bent over to retrieve Aunt Stella's ice. I turn away, handing her the glass and managing to get away from her grip. "Just a keepsake," I reply. "Going to change now," I say, heading directly up to my room and snagging my clothes and the rest of my smoothie, but forgetting my phone on the kitchen island. Thinking nothing of it, I make my way up the staircase and head directly to my bedroom. I fetch a camisole and panty set before pulling on a skirt and blouse and kick off my flip flops and opting for some flats. Grabbing a jaw clip and restraining my hair, I head back downstairs. "So, what were you thinking of for lunch?" I ask Aunt Stella as I head into the kitchen. "I could make us some sandwiches or heat something, or we could do take-out or go out somewhere nice," I say, stepping inside the kitchen. "Aunt Stella?" I ask, putting my hand on her shoulder._

 _She turns around then, her eyes ablaze with anger, her hands shaking, and it is then that I see it—my cell phone._

" _Aunt Stella, what are you doing with that?!" I demand, reaching out to take it, but she whips her hand back._

" _Homewrecking bitch!" she screams, bringing her hand with my phone clutched in it and hitting me, hard, in the jaw. "How dare you?!" she demanded. "How dare you sleep with my husband?!"_

 _I'd merely fallen to my knees and I slowly raised my head, peeking up at her through my hair—the hair which Baxter had so loved to become lost in. "He told me about your lover, too," I whisper to her. "Don't think you're blameless in this thing, Stella."_

" _Shut_ up _!" she screamed, chucking me again, but I shakily get to my feat, refusing to be beaten down by her._

" _You didn't love him," I whisper to her. "You don't even know what love is. All you do is use people, Stella. You thought you could have it all—power husband, house, job, kids, lover... Everything. But you misstepped, Stella. You only showed love to the trivial things, and not to the beautiful man you married._ I _love him, Stella, not you. And this?" I ask, removing the chain from where it was hidden beneath the blouse. "This was a symbol of that love. He was with me in New York before you demanded that he fly home."_

" _You were sleeping with him!" Stella screamed, hitting me, hard, in the face for a third time._

" _Yes," I say softly, unfolding the ring from my fingers, "and he was going to leave you and the kids to marry me."_

 _Stella flew into a rage then, dropping my phone onto the ground before grabbing me by my hair and proceeding to beat me, all the while savagely repeating the words of love Baxter and I had said to one another, as well as the fact that my phone's passcode was his birthday._

"So, you were having an affair with your uncle?" Lincoln asks.

"Yes," I reply. "It was an infatuation, really, though I didn't know it at the time. I kept that ring until you asked me to move in with you the first time, and then I gave it a proper burial."

"Where?"

"I threw it into the lake on my family's property," I reply steadily. "I said goodbye to Baxter once and for all, and hoped that he would want us to be happy. That is, if you still want me," I say.

Lincoln laces his fingers through mine. "Hey, we all go through controversial things, and I'm no better. Of course I still want you, Edythe."

I lock my eyes to his. "Good," I reply. "Because I don't know what I'd do if I ended up losing you, too. My mother lost my dad once, and I know how she reacted. I don't think I'd do much better."

Lincoln promptly gets to his feet and wraps his arms around me in a moment of pure, unadulterated tenderness. "You're never going to lose me," he replies, his lips at my ear, and it is that rare deliciousness of his breath upon my skin that makes me realize that, once and for all, Lincoln Beckett is the proper and only man for me.

I was discharged two days later, and was relocated immediately to Lincoln's penthouse. I soon discovered that he'd had an elevator installed in the penthouse itself to allow me to get around more easily. It had cost him a pretty penny—fifteen-thousand dollars—but it was merely a dip in Lincoln's money pond. Now that I was on leave from MHU, I had thrown myself into wedding plans, and even got my own wedding planner, Yolande McPherson, to assist me.

I spent the rest of March recuperating from the shooting, relieved that there were no consequences for me for going into a dangerous situation as a rookie. Bottom line, Olivia had stuck her neck out for me, telling IAB that I had only resorted to extreme actions to save her life. Of course, my father had to oversee the case as a top-ranking official for IAB, and there was the whole argument of conflict of interest, but, once he assured the department that he would do everything in his power to consider all sides, he was permitted to oversee the investigation. Since I couldn't leave the house for two weeks—although after a week I was already walking again—IAB, or rather my father, had to come and see me to do a follow up interview with me.

"You're feeling all right?" he asked, when he came to see me in the middle of the first week of April.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Dad, really," I say, managing to press the button of the elevator and bringing him upstairs to the main sitting room, with yet another wall taken up by floor to ceiling windows. "Thompson should be up momentarily with some drinks for us. I told him all about your penchant for Arnold Palmer's and apparently he makes a mean one," I say, gesturing to one of the couches directly across from me.

My father smiles. "That's very nice, Edythe," he says. "You didn't need to tell him all that."

"I talk about you and Mom all the time—and the kids," I say. "Thompson likes to know what everyone likes so as there's no mistake."

"It seems as if you've taken to having servants," my father puts in.

"They're not servants, Father," I tell him patiently. "Jensen prefers the terms of 'driver' and 'bodyguard', and Fairfield likes 'assistant', while Thompson likes the term 'personal chef'."

"Who cleans the house?" he asks.

"Mrs. Marjorie Lupine," I tell him patiently. "She comes once a week to do a rather thorough cleaning of the place."

"And have you and Lincoln discussed where you're going to live after you're married?"

I shrug. "Not really. I thought we'd just stay here."

"Oh," my father says, looking genuinely surprised. "I'm surprised—I thought you always said you intended on having children."

I can only smile at this statement awkwardly, as Thompson enters the room with an Arnold Palmer for my father and some sparkling cider for me. I thank Thompson and my father does the same; I watch as Thompson leaves and my father takes a toothpick with a cheddar cheese cube on it. "Dad, why do you suddenly seem so interested in me and Lincoln having children?" I ask him.

He chuckles. "Let's face it, kiddo—I'm not getting any younger. And the kids won't be able to give me grandkids for a long time. I want to be a grandfather sooner rather than later. I barely had a family as it was—all I had was an aunt and uncle but the moment they had their own kids, it was goodbye to all that. I'm just asking because I'm curious."

"Dad, you know my history with pregnancy is sketchy at best... At this point, I don't even know if I can have kids..."

"Honey, you know that's a controversial subject to ask your soon-to-be married daughter," says a familiar voice and, turning, I'm shocked to see my mother entering the room, holding a soda in her hand. "Hello, darling," she says, kissing my forehead before going to sit next to my father, and kisses his cheek. "I would think you wouldn't want to talk about this with him. It's more of a husband and wife or a mother and daughter conversation."

I grip my cider glass, its coolness seeping into my fingers as I concentrate on a drop of water going down its side. "I don't even know if I can even have a baby," I tell them softly.

"Sweetheart, you can," my mother says. "You've gotten pregnant once before, and one abortion won't hinder that."

"The experts usually say that if you actually have a baby in your teen years, your body isn't ready to handle the pregnancy accordingly, because your body hasn't finished developing," my father says quietly. "Think about the potential damage you could've done to yourself had you gone through with that pregnancy when you were thirteen-years-old."

"You guys don't understand," I say softly to them, feeling the tears threatening to escape my eyes.

"Honey, it's okay," my mother says quickly. She reaches across the expensive coffee table that Lincoln probably got at an art gallery auction or something and clasps my hand in hers. "Are you afraid of giving birth? Trust me, it's nothing to worry about."

"Of course," my father says, picking up right where my mother left off. "You'll be able to plan accordingly and get good medication so that the pregnancy progresses easily and so that the birth goes well..."

"I'm not scared about giving birth," I say, tears coming out of my eyes. "That's not what I'm afraid of at all."

"What are you afraid of, sweetheart?" my mother asks.

I raise my eyes to theirs, tears halfway blinding me so that I have to blink to see them properly. "I'm afraid of getting pregnant again because I've had more than one abortion," I reply.

My mother lowers her eyes, and I can tell that she knows something, but she remains silent.

"Who?" my father asks, his tone slightly sharp.

"Hunter," my mother says, her tone forcing him to remain civil.

"I hated hiding this from you, especially after Stella did what she did to me, but I couldn't talk about it..."

"Hold on," my father says, cutting across me. "What did Stella do to you? What the hell did she do?"

"Hunter!" my mother shouts. "Let Edythe explain." She turns and locks eyes with mine, concern in her face. "Honey, tell me the truth—you were pregnant with Baxter's baby, weren't you?"

His eyes snap at once to my mother. "Baxter?!" he demanded, complete disbelief in his voice. "Sure, they were close, and you had me thinking that they were... But you weren't, were you, honey?" he asks, turning back to me, hope and desperation in his voice.

I turn away from them, gripping my glass so tightly that it was causing my hands to shake. "Yes. We were having an affair."

"A married man?!" my father demands. "Edythe..."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry..."

"You'd better be sorry!" my father shouts, shaking his head. "He was your uncle, for Christ's sake, Edythe!"

"Hunter, please," my mother says warningly before turning back to look at me. "I knew," she says, moving to sit beside me on the other couch.

I turn and look at her. "You knew?"

"Wait a minute... You knew about this?" my father says, his eyes filling to the brim with betrayal.

"I knew," my mother says again. "I saw you and Hunter at The Blackwater Grille, the night he died," she tells me.

"You _saw_ them together?!" my father demands.

My mother turns to look at him, impatience in her face. "Hunter, I realize I probably owe you an explanation about all this, but right now, we have to be there for our daughter. Please."

He sighs. "You're right. Okay."

My mother takes my hand in hers. "What I'm about to say is probably going to make you hate me..."

"What?" I ask her.

"I called Stella after I saw you together," she says in a rush. "I called her and told her that, based on your body language, I suspected that the two of you were in a sexual relationship..."

"What?!" I cry out, yanking my hands from hers.

"Yes... I am so sorry..."

"Stella called him after we got back to Gina's apartment," I tell her. "She said that one of the kids had gotten into rat poison, but later she said on the stand during the cross examination that the kids weren't at home with her..." My eyes rise so that they are locked on my mothers. "Goddammit... You killed the man I loved," I say, my voice shaking.

"Edythe, don't you dare speak to your mother that way!" my father shouts.

I turn and look at him. "You shut up! Because of your wife, her whole family hates me forever!"

"Maybe that's good!" he thunders back. "Maybe it's warranted, after what you did with Baxter."

"We were in love!" I shout.

"You were nineteen-years-old! You weren't in love!" he shouts.

"Why in the hell do you think he left his fortune to me?!" I demand, then shake my head, for it was something I'd vowed to myself to never talk about.

"He left you everything?" my mother asked in the wave of silence that followed my sudden outburst. "Yes," I reply. "Before he left due to Stella's fake phone call, Baxter asked me to be his wife while we were at The Blackwater Grille." I sigh, knowing the truth had to come out sooner or later. "We started the affair that first summer I went down to Dallas on my own. Stella told me that she had a sick friend in another town and she left and took the kids. Baxter came home from work and I made us dinner and we walked. The next day, I went shopping and Baxter eventually ended up taking me out to what turned out to be our first date. We flirted a lot the night before and that night and then when we got back to the house, he came into my room and told me that he and Stella were only married on paper."

"Only married on paper?" my father demanded.

"What are you talking about?" my mother asked.

"He and Stella hadn't been together since they conceived Harper, and that was only from a drunken night," I tell them. "He said that Stella was going to see her boyfriend in the next town, and that the boyfriend was the husband of her best friend. He said he was tired of living in a loveless marriage and so that night was when we started sleeping together... It was just sex, to begin with, but then we fell in love and he met with his lawyer before he came up to see me the day after my graduation and told me that he'd had everything in his will changed. The lawyer ended up representing me and had taped their meeting, which was time stamped, and it held up in court. That's how I got my hands on all his money, but I'm not going to touch it, ever..."

"And...the pregnancy?" my father manages to get out.

"I found out about that after Stella came to see me," I reply. "You were on a mission for IAB and Mom took the kids to Connecticut. Stella came one day before lunch and saw the ring that Baxter gave me; then she hacked into my phone —which had his birthday as my passcode, stupid, I know—and then called me a homewrecker and..."

"And what, sweetheart?"

"Beat me," I replied.

"You let her?" my father asked.

I nod, more tears spilling. "Yes. I figured I owed it to her. In technical terms, I was a homewrecker..."

"Honey, no," my mother says, quickly pulling me into her arms. "By all accounts, you and Baxter were in love. I don't approve with how you went about things, but tell me this: Would you change anything?"

I pull back from her. "No. No, of course not. I loved Baxter, but I was never in love with him, I see that now. I'm in love with Lincoln. Sure, in the beginning I was just having fun with him and he was just having fun with me. But when I got injured in my first three months of me being Officer Grayson, he said that he was in love with me and couldn't bear to see anything bad happening to me ever again and he wanted me to be safe."

My father sighs. "There's a statute on Stella's crime," he tells me. "We have one year left to prosecute her."

"What's she up to these days?" I ask my mother.

She shrugs. "Last I heard, the kids weren't doing so well," she replies. "Stella quit her job and is living off her savings. She could lose the house."

I shrug. "Give me some time," I reply. "I can't say I know what the right answer here is, and I want to be sure."

By the end of April, I am fully back to work and the wedding is fully planned, with the invitations already sent out. I'd booked the venue, the flowers, the caterers, the DJ, and anything else you could possibly think of for the grand event. Lincoln assured me that it was going to be the wedding of the century, and all I really had to do now was to find my dress. Gina, as my Maid of Honor, was to come with me, along with my mother, Yolande, and Noelle and Henrietta, who had agreed to be my Bridesmaids, along with Livi and Leia, who were going to be my co-Flower Girls.

In between investigating shootings around various parts of Manhattan, I tried my best to duly focus on my job and my wedding. The physical at my physician's had gone exceptionally well, and I was back on the investigation part of the job one week earlier than expected. My mother fully expected me to take it easy, and she and Nate were watching my every move. Noelle and I were permitted to work steadily throughout the rest of the month of April, but as May dawned, I began to grow nervous when I still hadn't found the dress.

It was on a Saturday morning around ten a.m. in the second week of May that Henrietta came to the penthouse to see me. Lincoln had a breakfast meeting followed by other meetings until three o'clock, so I had a few hours free. I was shocked when my soon-to-be sister-in-law told me to get dressed and to go with her, because she had something to show me. I got into her bright red Aston Martin and we drove across town to the East Village where we arrived at an exclusive-looking bridal shop, called Uptown Bride.

"Here we are!" Henrietta sang, handing her keys over to the valet before throwing her arm around me and ushering me inside. "One of the girls whose teeth I worked on told me about this place."

"How'd she know about it?" I ask.

"She's a magazine editor and chef, so she's constantly asking for issues for the hottest wedding gowns for celebrities," she explains. "I managed to do such a good job on her teeth, that I cut her price down by half in exchange for an appointment here today." "Ah, so you must be my ten-thirty appointment," says a young woman dressed sumptuously in a sheath dress in an appealing red, which accentuates her dark brown skin perfectly. "My name is Carlotta du Point; I'm the owner and founder of Uptown Bride. Welcome to my store," she says pleasantly, before checking her Blackberry. "The appointment is under the name Edythe Grayson, but it looks like a Henrietta Spencer made the appointment..."

"That would be me," Henrietta says, looking Carlotta up and down like she's a rare gem or an exotic dessert as she puts out her hand. "Dr. Henrietta Spencer—I'm one of the Bridesmaids and sister-in-law to be."

Carlotta blinks at Henrietta's formal behavior, yet she is not taken aback by it in the slightest. "Carlotta," she says, putting out an expertly manicured hand—her nails matching that of her dress. "Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Spencer."

"Henrietta, please, Miss du Point," Henrietta replies.

"Carlotta, if it's all the same to you," she says. "I do like a professional," she puts in softly, her voice practically a purr, before she turns back to me. "But _you_ must be the lovely bride, judging by that expertly cut jewel on your finger. What style of dress were you looking for, Edythe?"

"I've always been partial to ball gowns, myself," I reply.

"Very good," Carlotta says, snapping her fingers. "Pippa! Lacey! I have need of you two!" she calls, all business.

Two women—one of Asian descent and the other Hispanic—come scuttling out from the back, each dressed to the nines. They look expectantly at Carlotta, who doesn't bother to look at them. Normally, I'd find such a thing rude, but was being entertained by the enraptured looks she and Henrietta were giving one another that it was quite difficult not to laugh.

"Pippa, please measure Edythe," Carlotta orders in a manner rather swift. "Then you'll proceed to hear more specifications about what she wants her wedding dress to look like."

"Yes, Miss du Point," Pippa says, motioning me towards the back.

"Lacey, please provide our guests with some Dom Pérignon," Carlotta commands steadily, never taking her eyes from Henrietta's. "The finest bottle, I think, for these lovely ladies."

"Right away, Miss du Point," Lacey says, walking towards another part of the back of the store.

"So, what kind of doctor are you?" Carlotta asks Henrietta as I am whisked to the showroom, where Pippa proceeds to take my measurements.

"I'm required to measure some sensitive areas, Miss Grayson," Pippa says, and I think one of Pippa's roles must be going over the appointment book, for she knew my surname without being asked or told. "I hope you will not mind."

"Call me 'Edythe'," I reply, "and that's all right. I understand." Pippa smiles, her hair like black silk beneath the lighting of the store as she makes a grab for her measuring tape and proceeds to do her job. "May I ask what you do for a living, Edythe?" she asks, albeit hesitantly, almost as if she is worried that her question is out of bounds.

"I'm a detective at Manhattan's Homicide Unit," I reply, moving my legs apart when directed by Pippa. "Law enforcement is in my blood—my father works for the Internal Affair's Bureau and my mother is my captain."

"Must be exciting," Pippa puts in. "All right, then. I've finished with all your measurements and now I need to know what style and cut of dress you're thinking of, as well as accessories," she says, jotting down the last of my dimensions and waiting for me to say something about my dress.

"A ball gown," I tell her. "Strapless; with a long train. I'm thinking of a classy-looking veil and maybe a tiara beneath it."

"Color?"

"White, of course," I reply, and we share a laugh.

"What kind of flowers will you be using?" she asks.

"Red roses," I reply, "and baby's breath."

"All right," Pippa says as Lacey comes by with champagne flutes and hands one over to me before walking off. "If you like, you can come and look at the gowns with me; normally, we don't allow such things, but Carlotta has your paperwork marked as a special case, and we do allow this in these rare situations. Come along with me," she says, motioning for me to follow. "We do ask, however, for safety and insurance reasons that no food or drinks are brought into the gown room. You do understand?"

"Of course," I reply, taking another swig of champagne before putting the flute onto a shelf provided and following Pippa.

The room is a vast sea—mainly of white—of gowns for each and every occasion that one can think of. Pippa leads me over to the immense wedding section and shows me where the gowns for the brides are, which take up most of the area, as is expected. Vera Wang, Oscar de la Renta, Elie Saab, and many other designers fill up the racks, each in their own individual section. It is when I see a Vera Wang in white, with a flowing skirt, strapless, and achingly beautiful that I find I am in awe and in shock at its simple beauty. It is taken from the rack by Pippa who checks my measurements and confirms that this gown is in my size. I don't bother to even look at anything else—other than a matching veil and perfect tiara—and am led straight back to the showroom, where I take off everything and Pippa promptly laces me into it.

"Let me go and fetch Carlotta and Henrietta to see what they think," she says breathlessly, heading off to go and find them. They return with Lacey with them and each one of them drops their jaws.

"Well?" I ask, trying to remain steady on the precarious hassock.

"I know just the shoes for you," Carlotta proclaims, and scurries to the back to get them. "What size are you?" she calls back to me.

"Eight!" I shout back.

Carlotta returns in a flash, even more flustered than before, and opens the box she brought out. Inside are the most beautiful shoes I've ever seen—white silk heels with peep toes and with beautiful flowers seemingly growing up the heel. She motions for me to lift my skirts and to slip into them, and thankfully I'm permitted to leave the hassock for this arrangement. I turn to the mirror and gasp, and Carlotta clasps her hands in approval.

"Beautiful," she states. "Everything is just your size."

"I'll take it all," I say breathlessly.

I am helped back into my street clothes and my dress is put into a new garment bag and my shoes are returned to their box. My veil and tiara are put in proper boxes and bags and soon we are all loaded up in Henrietta's car. We drive in good time and make it back to the penthouse, and she agrees to join me for lunch inside while I rest from the day out. Although I'd fully recovered from the shooting, I was more tired than usual, but that was mainly due to the side effect of the pain medication I was ordered to take for a few more weeks.

"Carlotta seemed to take a shine to you," I say to Henrietta as we dine on the veranda in the mid-spring sunshine.

She laughs, taking a bite of the salad she'd asked Thompson to make her. "Oh, yes, yes, yes. Gave me her number and everything."

I raise an eyebrow as I moved my baked mac and cheese with chicken around my plate. "Didn't you need one to get us into her store?"

Henrietta nearly chokes on a mouthful of lettuce and vinaigrette in a moment of humor for her. "Well, yes. But that was her _business_ number. This was her _personal_ number."

"Ah, I see," I reply. "She looked ready to eat you alive."

"God, I hope so," she replies a little wistfully. "I even dropped Leia into the conversation..."

"How'd that come up?"

"The wedding party, of course," Henrietta says. "We were discussing the wedding party and I mentioned Leia was one of your flower girls. Naturally, she asked if Leia's father was in the picture, and I said that sperm donations are usually an anonymous affair."

"Smooth," I say, sipping at my strawberry smoothie. "And what did Miss Carlotta have to say to that?"

"She asked me how I got to be a dentist," she replied.

"I don't know that story," I tell her. "How _did_ you get to be a dentist?" Henrietta smiled at that. "Well, I had the opportunity to do a lot of volunteer work in Africa as part of an exclusive community service summer program for my private school," she explained. "I noticed that they didn't have access to a lot of things, so I helped set up a dental clinic in Ethiopia. I was fascinated by the language and the people and especially the dental work. The summer I turned eighteen, I returned down there, which is where I met my first girlfriend, Emebet Ifi, who was a native Ethiopian and also in their dental training program. She knew English, and was one of the few people in that village who did, so it became easy to talk to her, as we were the same age."

"What happened to her?" I ask.

"Got swine flu the following February during their outbreak a few years back," she replies, shaking her head.

"Were you in love with her?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes, I was. We only had three months together before I had to go back to America for college. She wrote to me during Thanksgiving and said that her family forced her to get married. She was pregnant by Christmas; she lost the baby in January, and by February, she was dead."

I reach out and squeeze Henrietta's hand. "I'm so sorry."

She shrugs. "Hey, what can you do? I'm twenty-seven-years-old, and I have a kid to raise and a job to do. I wasn't with anyone for three years after Emebet died. I just couldn't do it. Then, I had Leia and things got complicated..."

"Hey, well, hopefully Carlotta won't think so," I reply.

"Hey! It's two-thirds of my favorite girls!" Lincoln says, walking out onto the veranda with a plate in his hands. "Mind if I join you?"

"You said you wouldn't be done until three," I reply, checking my watch. "It's barely two..."

Lincoln chuckles and leans down to kiss me. "Penultimate meeting got cut short and the last one was cancelled," he replies, pulling up a chair and sitting between us. "Hello, sis."

"Hey, bro," Henrietta says, and Lincoln kisses her cheek. "Thompson's salads are as delicious as ever."

"Well, be sure to tell him that." He rolls his shoulders. "You working that nanny of yours too hard again?"

"No, Thomasine lives for the work," Henrietta replies.

"I only ask because Edythe and I were discussing it..."

"What?"

"Well, Lincoln and I would love to have Leia here some weekends if Thomasine needs a break," I say. "We adore her and we want to spend as much time with her as possible before the honeymoon."

"How long is that thing again?" she asks.

"Well we start in Italy and end up in Southampton," Lincoln replies.

"The cruise itself is twenty-two nights," I respond. "And then we get off the boat in Southampton and travel around there, including Scotland and Ireland, before flying back via Heathrow Airport to JFK."

"When are you coming back?" Henrietta wants to know.

"August, at least," I say.

"Or until we're sick of each other," he jokes.

I give him a mock-pained look. "Are you sick of me yet?"

Lincoln pulls me into his arms, amid Henrietta's rolled eyes. "Never," he replies as his lips descend onto mine.


	9. With Arms Wide Open

Chapter Nine: With Arms Wide Open

As the month of May continued, I forced myself to do as much work as possible so as my co-workers wouldn't think I was slacking off because I was the boss's daughter, or because of my upcoming wedding. My fellow detectives, plus Melanie as sergeant and Nate as lieutenant, were very supportive of my work ethic and seemed to think I had a good head on my shoulders. One afternoon, I had just finished up some paperwork when I was called into my mother's office rather unexpectedly, but I hurried into her midst.

"Everything okay?" I asked, doing her bidding by shutting her office door. When she still seemed preoccupied in her previous task, I crossed the room and handed over the files. "I finished the paperwork for this homicide cold case."

"What did you think of it?" she asks, taking it from me and skimming my notes like any boss/mother would. "Well, you certainly covered your tracks in more places than one..."

"I always go by the rule of thumb: Explain just a bit more so as people who haven't even heard of the case can get somewhere with it."

My mother smiles. "Good girl," she says. "Now, I have an assignment for you and I think you're up to it."

"Of course," I say, plunking myself down in one of the provided chairs. "Tell me what you got."

"Olivia's team apprehended a suspect this afternoon," she replies. "He was thought to be a special victim, and he is, but his string of murders trump his past abuse. I need you to head down to SVU and bring him in."

"Are you sure?" I ask, not wanting to overstep because of my position.

"Yes," my mother replies.

"Should I take Noelle, or...?"

"No, she's got an assignment with Melanie this afternoon—they're due to appear in court, actually. I'm sending you out with Nate."

"Okay, sure," I say, feeling secure when there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," my mother says, and the door opens. "Hey, Nate."

"Did you brief her?" Nate asks.

"Yeah," my mom replies with a smile. "You two are free to head over there at any time now."

"Great," I say. "See you later," I call over my shoulder as I head out of her office and grab my badge, gun, and suit jacket from my desk. "What do you know about this guy?" I ask Nate as we head to the elevators.

"As much as you do," he replies, not unhelpfully.

"Spree killer?" I ask. "Serial?"

"Serial," Nate replies. "There wasn't rape connected to his killings—he did most of his kills for money, so that's another reason why we get him and not SVU," he says as we get to the main floor. "Your car or mine?"

"I just filled the tank during my lunch break," I offer.

"Your car, then," he says, and we head over to it.

I unlock the doors automatically and we get inside, buckling up; I put the key into the ignition and wait for it to turn over before reversing the beast and pulling out of the parking lot. "How's things with Violette?" I ask.

"Well, she's pleased to start maternity leave," he replies. "As a matter of fact, your wedding is the last big thing she's doing before leaving."

"She's coming back, though, right?"

"Of course," Nate assures me as we weave in and out of traffic. "She thinks she has a few more years in her. We just want to find a decent nanny."

"Of course," I reply. "You always have to find someone worthy to look after your children."

"Have you and Lincoln discussed having kids?"

I laugh, forcing myself to keep the discomfort from it. "Well, yes. Of course, we're going to wait until after we're married. We have no issue with people who have kids whenever they want to, it's just the way he and I want to do things."

"It's good that you're sure," Nate says.

We drive in silence for the next few minutes before arriving at the building which houses the SVU squad room. We park in the lot and head up directly, flashing our badges and making our way upstairs. I push the painful thoughts from my mind when I realize the last time I was there, I was reporting my own rape—a rape that my parents still knew nothing about. Nate and I made our way inside the squad room and he went over to speak to Amanda and Sonny, who he got on well with, while I found Fin working at his desk.

"Hey, Fin," I say, stepping forward.

"Edythe!" he said warmly, getting to his feet and embracing me. "How're you doin', kiddo?"

I smile at him. "Fine, just fine. Recovered well, considering, and the wedding is still on, and you and Olivia are still expected to be there."

Fin chuckles. "Wouldn't miss it for anything," he assures me. "I'll bet you're here to see Liv about the menace we have in interrogation..."

I nod. "Yeah, that's what we're here for," I reply. "What did you glean from this charming individual?"

"He's an ass, I'll tell you that much," Fin replies before Olivia enters the room and relief floods her face.

"Edythe!" she says, rushing forward and embracing me. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to see you sooner! Noah's been under the weather and I couldn't get away..."

"I'll let you two talk," Fin says, returning to paperwork of his own while Nate motions for me to collect the prisoner with Olivia.

"Don't worry about it," I assure Olivia as she takes me into her office where she motions into the interrogation room, where the prisoner is being held. "I hope Noah is doing all right..."

"Growing faster every day," Olivia says. "I never said a proper 'thank you' to you Edythe, after everything..."

I put my hand up. "Don't worry about it. All I want is for you and Noah and everyone to come to the wedding and support me and Lincoln in this next chapter of our lives. That's how you can thank me."

"Done," Olivia replies. "Want to look at your prisoner?"

"Please," I reply, and Olivia takes me back to her office. I watch as she motions in the direction of the window, which we could look through but the prisoner could not. Peering closer, I find myself shaking my head in awe, shock, and suspicion at the person in front of me. "Olivia..."

"What?" she asks, moving to stand beside me. "Is there a problem?"

"Olivia, that's Ryder," I say, pointing. "Ryder Knox—the guy that you and Fin caught me with on the night of my fifteenth birthday party!"

"Are you a hundred percent sure?" she asks, confused. "He gave us the name Tex Laughlin..."

I nod. "I'm positive—he's the second guy I had frequent sexual contact with. I'll never forget that... I'll never forget that Tex Laughlin is one of his many aliases. I mean, when you're a drug lord and a pimp, you need 'em..."

"Well, we can't have you taking him in," she replies.

"What?" I ask, turning to look at her.

"Potential conflict of interest," she replies. "If he thinks that you're working for us, and you are, he'll keep his trap shut. Can't risk it."

"Maybe not," I say. "I have an idea... Do you trust me?"

"What did you have in mind?"

I bite my lip, looking from Ryder to Olivia and back again. "It's risky, but I think it could work," I say. "Think you can hold him for an hour?"

"Done. What did you have in mind?"

"Ryder and I lost contact after I went into rehab, so he has no way of knowing I completed it," I say. "For all he knows, I just did the program for a few months and went off the rails. For all he knows, Mommy and Daddy could've bailed me out in more ways than one. I could go in there as sort of a piece offering—he gets a little hot to trot, I convince him you're not listening in... I mean, let's face it, you must've read him his Miranda rights, correct?"

"Of course, and he took them." "And I can remind him of that," I reply. "I'll remind him of that, as well as all the fun he and I had together, thus getting him to sing like the worthless bird he is." I bite my lip, considering, "One trashy outfit, hair messed up, engagement ring gone, bad makeup... You've got yourself a respectable police officer turned part-time hooker..."

Olivia looks intrigued, before walking to the door of her office and opening it. She is formal about it, calling, "Rollins! Fin!" before standing there and waiting for them to come into the office.

"What's up, Liv?" Fin asks.

"Everything okay?" Amanda asks.

"Fin, how's this guy's transfer paperwork coming?" Olivia asks.

"Right on schedule," he assures her.

"Lose it," Olivia says, and Fin immediately gets her meaning.

"No problem, Liv," he says.

"I want you to stall Nate and instruct Carisi to stall Laughlin," she informs Fin, and he nods.

"On it," he says, leaving her office.

Olivia then turns to Amanda. "Rollins, I want you to head out with Edythe," Olivia tells her. "Edythe is going undercover, as herself." She walks over to her other office door, leading out into the hallway. "Leave by this door, and I'll call your mom and explain," she says, opening it and ushering us out. "Edythe will explain on the way," she says, and shuts the door behind us.

"What's the plan?" Amanda asks as soon as the elevator doors have shut behind us and we make our way down to the parking garage.

"The plan is, I turn myself back to the way I was."

"Which was?"

I chuckle darkly and turn to Amanda. "When I was fifteen, my mom, Olivia, and Fin all found me in a penthouse suite at this expensive hotel. It was the night of my birthday, and I left the party to go get drunk and stoned with that charming guy that you all arrested," I say as we step out of the elevator and towards my car.

Amanda's eyes widen. "Wait, you know Tex Laughlin?"

"It's an alias," I reply, unlocking my car. "His real name is Ryder Knox. He was my...employer in my early teen years before I got clean."

"Employer?" Amanda asks, getting into the passenger seat and buckling up. "I'm afraid to ask..."

I shrug, sticking the key into the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot. "It's what you'd expect from a troubled teenager, really."

Amanda nods as we weave through traffic. "He make you sell drugs?"

I nod. "Yeah. Then with his 'special clients', I had to sleep with them. Sometimes, they held key ingredients to him making his drugs. If Ryder didn't have the money to pay up properly for them, he'd send me instead. I'd walk in, do whatever they wanted sexually, and then they'd give me the ingredients. Sometimes, if they didn't like Ryder taking away their business, I'd get beaten on top of the rape. I was so drunk or high to ease the pain and guilt that I felt constantly that I hardly remember anything about it..."

Amanda shakes her head. "I can't imagine I'd want to remember any of it. Some men can be so degrading and hurtful towards women. I hope that most of them don't see the damage their causing. Others, I think, must get off on it, they do it time and time again..."

"I'm just glad those days are over for me," I reply. Within the next fifteen minutes, we arrive on Fifth Avenue, and I soon find an establishment called Mystique Boutique, which seems to be right up my alley for my former self. I park my car and the two of us walk towards the entrance, letting ourselves inside. We are greeted by the receptionist, who looks shocked at our ages.

"This establishment is catered mainly towards younger women," she says, and looks a bit uncomfortable.

I flash her a smile. "Is it?" I ask, and Amanda and I flash our badges. "It's for an assignment. Please."

She sighs, flustered. "All right," she says. "What did you have in mind?"

"Something revealing," I reply. "Low neck, high skirt, skin-tight. Think you may have something in a size four?" I ask, smiling at her. Pretty soon, I've found and bought something in my size, and pay up front, before heading out to the Cole Haan close by, where I buy an expensive pair of heels.

"What next?" Amanda asks.

"Next, I need to _look_ the part," I reply, walking down the block towards an upscale looking salon nearby. I flash my badge, Amanda just at my heels, and am almost immediately shown to a chair.

"Paulo Leroy, top hairdresser at Rose & Vine Salon," says the man, putting out his hand. He has the most beautiful brown skin I've ever seen; his head is clean shaven, as is his face, and he wears a butter yellow button down shirt—open at the collar—with a deep gray vest. His suit pants are a navy blue, and his leather shoes are some of the most expensive and daring I've ever seen.

"Detective Edythe Grayson of Manhattan Homicide," I reply, shaking his hand with a quick smile.

"What can I do for you today, Edythe?" he asks.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to make me look like a complete drug addict with terrible hair," I reply. "Messy hair—totally unkempt—terrible makeup to hide the addiction... And _maybe_ some needle marks here and there..."

Paulo looks shocked, but immediately smiled. "Assignment?"

I nod. "Yes."

He looks me over then, nodding his head. "Sit," he orders.

After about twenty minutes, Paulo had used makeup and some of the most foul-smelling products I'd ever seen or smelled and completely changed me. I had faux dark circles under my eyes, and the sclera part of my eye had been rubbed entirely with salt water. My hair was then dipped in some olive oil from California and then blow-dried, followed by a hairspray layer to remain that way. I was then made to wear mascara, which was quickly smudged to look like I'd been crying. I then had this expensive salt rubbed over my lips to make them appear chapped, and was withheld anything to drink to keep them that way. Paulo also put faux needle marks up and down my arms, before pronouncing me perfect. He then led me to the back to change, and was awestruck at the final result.

I quickly paid him and turned to Amanda, who gaped.

"Damn," she said, handing over my street clothes and badge, which were now in my boutique bag. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a hooker."

"That's so sweet," I replied. I handed over my keys to really sell the bit that she was "bringing me in" and we made our way back to SVU.

"Ready to sell this?" Amanda asks, after she's parked my car.

I nod. "Let's do this," I reply. I was permitted to get out of the car myself and walk over to the elevator, whereupon Amanda took me by the arm and hauled me up in the elevator. We arrived at the proper floor together, and Amanda pulled me along the hallway and into the squad room.

Olivia was waiting for us, and she looked visibly shocked. "Oh, my god, Edythe," she said, shaking her head. "You're lucky I know you, but..."

"Liv, I was just looking over the paperwork and... Wow!" Fin says, looking me up and down. " _What_ did you do to yourself?"

"Believe me, it wasn't cheap," I joke.

"We'll reimburse you for it, of course," Olivia says quickly.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine, really. I'm going to have a little fun with this," I say, waving to Sonny and his shocked expression, as well as to Nate, who had been briefed, although his jaw was flapping. "Let's see Ryder now."

Amanda offers to bring me back, but Olivia opts to do it instead. She puts her arm around my shoulders and brings me up to the door. "You okay?"

I nod, handing over my engagement ring. "Keep this for me, will you?"

"Sure," Olivia says, pocketing it. "You feel vulnerable at any time, just give me the signal, all right?"

"What's the signal?" I whisper.

"Say, 'I don't think this is going to work', and then I'll come in and say that your lawyer is here or something, and I'll get you out of there. Fin, Nate, and I will be watching the entire time. You have nothing to worry about. Ryder's been searched so it's not like he's hiding anything..."

"Physically, anyway," I mutter as Olivia opens the door.

"Hello, Ryder," Olivia says, stepping into the room first. "Comfortable?"

"When are you transferring me?" he demands.

"All in good time," Olivia replies patiently. "We actually brought you a little parting gift on behalf of all of us here at SVU."

"I don't want a lecture, or a gift basket," he sneers. "All of you must've bought me decorative gift soaps or something..."

"No, more like a blast from the past."

"What?!" Ryder demands.

Olivia turns to me, mouthing, "You'll be fine", before pushing me into the room and smiling. "Have fun," she says, and shuts the door behind me.

"Edythe?!" Ryder says, shocked, getting to his feet and walking over to me. "How ya been?"

I peek up at him through my hair. "Fine. I was working tonight," I say, running my hands over the fake needle marks, "when those bastards decided to pick me up. It's almost as if they don't want you to make a decent living, ya know?"

Ryder chuckles. "Yeah. Why don't you sit down?" he says, pulling out a chair for me and waiting for me to sit before he does so himself. "What happened to you? I thought you got clean in exchange for no jail time... I don't blame you—jail really bites. But I would've thought with all your family money..."

I shake my head, cutting him off. "No. My parents adopted another kid and had another one and their hands were too full to worry about me. In between their damned baby screaming all night and that other kid they adopted wanting all their attention..." I shrug. "Drugs seemed like candy to me, and I just fell back into the life. I was better at hiding it, this time. I did all the research about passing drug tests and stuff. My record was wiped clean, but the minute I turned eighteen, my parents threw me out on my ass and said to leave the family alone. They disowned me, and I have no one..."

Ryder reaches across the table, and it takes all I have in me to manage what I hope is a loving smile. "You got me."

I let out a small giggle—the one all the men in my life have liked—and lean forward, letting Ryder get a look at the goods. "I've thought about you a lot these past few years. I wanted to call, but you know that the coke makes you so paranoid you can't think straight..."

"Believe me, I know," Ryder replies, stroking my knuckles, his thieving eyes caught between the boulders and a hard place. "But it's always better when you've got friends and family to fall back on. You and me? We're family—and family's tell each other everything."

"All right," I reply, knowing I was finally getting somewhere. "Why don't I tell you what I did to get in here?"

"Sure," Ryder replies.

"I killed my son of a bitch pimp," I reply, hoping to sell this and quick. "I have to work from nine at night until three a.m.; at least three guys per hour. I pull in twenty guys a few weeks ago, right? Over the limit?"

"Right," Ryder says, clearly impressed.

"I hand over sixty percent to this guy, Big Joe—my pimp—and he hits me in the face and says for me to give him everything. I got expenses—he holes us all up in these little apartments in Harlem; sure the rent isn't terrible, but I gotta eat. He demands all my money from the night, and I say no because I need money for myself and I gave him what he's been asking for. He don't like that one bit—he hits me with all his rings. He's always careful to hit us girls so that the cuts and bruises don't show, but hard enough to keep us in line. I just couldn't take it anymore, so I pretended to seduce him, and then I grabbed his gun and blew his head clean off! Cops believed everything I said, because I'm still a Grayson, after all, and so I got off. I lied and said he'd raped me, but he used a condom. And, praise God, there was one in the trash nearby!"

Ryder laughs heartily, then pulls on my hands; he motions for me to walk around the table and to sit in his lap and I do—or, rather, my persona does, willingly. "I've missed you terribly, Edythe. I think I can tell you anything—trust runs deep, and I think I owe that much to you."

"Oh, yeah?" I ask him. "You wanna tell me?"

He nods. "They said they wouldn't ask me anymore, because I said I wouldn't tell them anything. But that one lady cop seemed to want to leave us alone for a while, if you know what I mean..."

"Hmmm," I say, reaching down towards him. I place my hand on his leg, rubbing it ever so slightly. "Maybe... Tell me what you did first, Ryder. Please. It makes me hot," I say, then meow at him.

"Oh, baby, you know I want you to feel hot," he replies. "Did you hear about those strings of murders happening in dark alleys?"

"Sure," I reply.

"All those little girls...dead. I did them all—killed them. And _did them_ before they died."

"Little girls?" I ask him, running my fingers along his chest. "Like, little kids, or...?"

"I'm not into that," he assures me. "They were all over eighteen—all their I.D.'s were valid."

I nod. "So, they were short?"

"Short, but big," he says, reaching out and grabbing ahold of my breasts, secured in a push-up bra which dug into my ribs and was frightfully uncomfortable.

"How many?" I asked, toying with his lips.

"Seventeen," he replies. "I want to make it an even twenty... Soon..."

"Seventeen girls?" I whisper, pretending to be fascinated.

"Yes. Seventeen girls in various allies in Fort Greene," he replies, naming a dangerous area in Brooklyn.

The door suddenly bangs open then, and Fin is there, while Olivia takes me by the hand and Fin shoves Ryder up against the wall. "What the hell is your problem, man?!" he demands.

"You weren't supposed to be listening!" Ryder screams.

"This is so pleasant," I say, laughing, my original voice back, and Ryder's eyes lock to mine. I shake my head at him, tying up my hair in a provided hair tie, while slipping my engagement ring back on my finger, and showing off my badge to Ryder with a smirk. "You really should be careful who you're confessing to—it may turn out to be a cop."

"You—you said you killed a pimp—"

"Open your eyes, wise-ass!" Fin yells at him. "She conned you, because cops do that!"

"Come on, Edythe," Olivia says, putting an arm around me and leading me out of there.

"Have a nice life, Ryder," I call out to him.

Olivia leads me into her office, and shuts the door. "Excellent work," she says, and hands over my bag with my street clothes in it. "Your mother is sending over Melanie Ford to take care of things with Nate. I called her via Skype and she was able to make out what you did with Ryder."

I smile at her. "Thanks—that means a lot to me, really."

"Your mom sometimes did undercover work on SVU's behalf. I hope you don't mind if I ask her for you for future assignments."

I smile. "Not at all—it was fun, especially because I knew how easily I could take him now. Of course, you, Fin, and Nate were all out supervising."

"And ADA Barba," Olivia said. "He was especially impressed. He says we can use the footage we got on the hidden security cameras in court. Knowing Ryder, unless he gets John Buchanan, we have him in the bag."

"John Buchanan works for my family, so I hardly see that happening. Conflict of interest, you know."

Olivia checks her watch. "It's almost four already. Your mom says you're free to go back home... I suspect you want to get whatever _that_ is out of your hair sooner rather than later..."

"Just olive oil and hairspray," I call over my shoulder. I drive back to the penthouse quickly after that, hoping that nobody stops me on the road and asks me to service them for a good time. I park in the lot and head upstairs, heading immediately to the master bedroom, where I take off the outfit and shove it into the back of the closet—it made me sick to think about. I then went into the bathroom and hop into the shower, allowing my hair to regain its normal feeling.

My thoughts drifted back to everything Ryder had put me through in my life, and it made me sick to recollect. I crossed my fingers that Ryder's unborn child wouldn't be brought up in court, and hoped that nobody outside my family would never even think to bring it up again. All those lies during my teenage years had done a number on me, and I'd never be the same for them...

I don't remember why or how my mother allowed me to walk around Sweden by myself, and I also was curious as to why she didn't track my cell phone. I'd looked up the clinic, and hoped that it wouldn't look too out of the ordinary—my obvious age and status as an American—but hoped to manage to blend into the white leather furniture.

Whoever had decided to decorate the clinic this way had to have been blind, my teenage mind decided. White, white everywhere; it was almost as if the decorator wanted to shame us with their idea of a good color scheme. I was not the only obvious teenager in there, but I was unsure if this should've been a relieving quality or a creepy one—I'm still undecided on the matter. I begin to fill out the mandatory paperwork on the subject, the word _Abort_ staring back at me, which was, apparently, the Swedish word for "abortion".

"Alice Eriksson?" came the nurse's call for my fake Swedish name.

"Ja, just här," I reply, getting to my feet and following her.

"Hur mår du i eftermiddag?" the nurse asks as we walk down the hallway and into an examination room.

"Bra, tack för att fråga. Hur mår du?" I ask her.

"Bra, tack, fröken Eriksson," she replies in a pleasant manner. "Klättra upp på undersökningsbordet och dra upp skjortan så jag kan undersöka dig innan förfarandet."

The kind nurse determines that I am around six weeks along, and, therefore, eligible for a pill instead of an invasive procedure. There won't be any kind of fetal heartbeat for another two weeks, so it is a quick and safe thing to do. I hand over the three hundred dollars I'd been told it would cost, and the woman slips from the room, putting my money in the safe, presumably. She returns with a glass of water and a pair of pills for me to take. In Swedish, the nurse explains that I will not feel a thing, and the procedure will take a few days. She tells me it is often mistaken for a heavy period, which is perfect, as my mother will not suspect a thing, otherwise, which is what I want. With the medication paid for, I take the pills and drink the water. I am monitored for a few minutes and, when no ill effects are presented, I am permitted to leave. I walked around Stockholm as the afternoon wore on, and wondered if, and when, things would ever be different. Would I ever say anything about this, to anyone? I did know two things—I wasn't ready to be a mother, and Ryder sure as hell should never be a father.

The rest of May finally passed and June finally dawned on Chelsea, New York, where the penthouse was. It was on a rare Saturday that Lincoln and I both had off when he said he had a surprise for me. Naturally, with the wedding two weeks away, I assumed it pertained to that, but said nothing as I was told to get dressed and I did—in a blouse and a skirt—before Lincoln and I got into his black Cadillac CTS Sedan and headed across town.

We drove across town, leaving Manhattan entirely before driving towards Long Island; I remembered after I got my associate's degree, how Gina and I had driven there and gotten drunk. It was before my relationship with Baxter; before things got complicated; before a lot of things, really. As we drove closer and closer to the edge of the earth, I wondered if Lincoln was going crazy—other than mansions, there really wasn't anything to see out here...

"Here we are," Lincoln says, pulling off from the main drag and driving us towards the black iron gate. He pushed the intercom system, spoke to someone briefly, and then the gates were opened and we were permitted to drive through. We drive down the path and came to a halt, after about three yards, and stopped in front of the most beautiful mansion I'd ever seen.

It had the water around the back of it, which had to be the Long Island Sound. I got out of the car as Lincoln circled around it to meet me, putting an arm around my waist and walking me up to the front door, which opened, and a sumptuously dressed man stepped out and smiled at us.

"Hello, Lincoln," the lavishly-dressed man said warmly, stepping up to him and shaking his hand. "Long time."

"Don't start again, Stan," Lincoln joked, turning to me. "Edythe, this is Stan Duvall, top realtor in Long Island. Stan, I'd like you to meet Detective Edythe Grayson, my fiancée."

Stan turns to me with as much warmth as he afforded to Lincoln. "Edythe, charmed!" he said, shaking my hand. "Back in college, we never knew if Lincoln would settle down with anyone. You must be pretty special if you managed to convince him otherwise."

"Stan, I've heard a lot about you," I reply. "Lincoln tells me that you knew everything about business law."

"Which is why I thought selling homes would be great," he says. "Well, come on, now. The appointment is only for an hour and I want to show you the place."

The three of us walk around the massive front yard, done up in a wide circle, and I can almost imagine Lincoln's and my children playing there as we walk up the stone steps and into the house. There is an old-fashioned foyer to begin with; to the right is the living room and to the left is the dining room. Just ahead on the left is a grand staircase, where, I presume, the bedrooms are. We head through the living room which wraps around the main floor of the house and into the kitchen before Stan shows us the dining room. Back in the foyer, we head straight ahead and Stan proudly shows off the old-fashioned, wood paneled library, which makes my heart skip a beat. Through the other door of the library is a home theater, which I find myself pleased to see, as we head back into the foyer and upstairs.

There are five bedrooms on the top floor, spaced out evenly, each with its own bathroom. Stan explains that there is an in-law suite, which can be reached via the master bedroom door, out onto a sky bridge. In the separate wing, which doubles as a guest house, there are three more bedrooms, each with its own bathroom on site as well, and a full-service kitchen in the second living room. Stan also tells us that there are more bathrooms on the main floor as well—one off the living room and one off the kitchen. There is also one off the wine cellar in the basement, and one attached to the home theater on the other side of the library. The last one is in the luxury pool house, which can also double as a guest apartment. There is a pool below the veranda out back, in the shape of a kidney, and the sound beyond offers private access.

Stan gave us permission to look around the property outside while he took a phone call from the agency office. There was a gazebo on the property, which was just beyond the pool area, and Lincoln and I walked down the cobblestone path and towards the water. It was bright blue beneath the mid-June sunshine, and I was completely overwhelmed by the pure, simple beauty of this exquisite property, both inside and out.

"Do you like it?" Lincoln asked as we looked over the water.

I nod. "Of course," I reply, "it's impossible not to." I smile, recalling when my father showed my mother the Westchester house, and tell Lincoln about it. "He actually put down an offer on it _before_ it all went down," I say quietly. "Almost as if he knew what my mother would like..."

"Bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, you can't take back a house. What if she didn't like it?"

I laugh at that. "That's true."

Lincoln gently loops his fingers around mine as we gaze out at the impeccable body of water before us. "Could you picture us living here?" he asks. "Imagine how wonderful it would be for our kids to grow up here..."

"The commute is over two hours..."

He sighs. "I know. We _do_ have Jensen for that, though."

"I just don't want him working too hard..."

"He likes it, believe me," Lincoln assures me.

I sigh. "I don't know what my mother would think if she..."

"She knows. Your father, too. I showed them the house a week ago. They were my Saturday afternoon meeting last weekend."

I chuckle and shake my head. "I should've guessed... So," I say, turning towards my husband-to-be, "how do my parents feel?"

"They want us to take the house—if you like it."

"I love it," I reply, honestly. "I can see our kids growing up here and being happy, and I can see us being happy here, too..."

Lincoln turns slightly, squeezing my hand to turn as well, and we watch as Stan walks past the gazebo himself and down the path.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks.

"Impossible not to," I reply.

"Stan, Edythe and I were talking. We'd like to take the house."

"Excellent," Stan replies. "The owners are all moved out already, and the house comes with the furniture. You can move in whenever you like."

"Before the wedding?" Lincoln asks.

I smile up at him. "Whenever suits us," I reply.

"You look beautiful."

I raise my eyes upwards, finding my mother's face in the mirror before me. My makeup was on point, my veil hanging back, the tiara clipped in place. I run my hands along the expensive dress and turns towards her. "Thank you," I say to her and turn to the rest of the wedding party, _my_ wedding party—Gina, Henrietta, Noelle, Livi, and Leia. "Thank you all."

"Anytime," Gina says.

"Don't mention it," Henrietta replies.

"Captain's right," Noelle puts in.

"You look like a princess!" Livi cries out.

"Pretty!" Leia squeals.

"As a picture," my mother finishes. Then, almost unexpectedly, there's a tap upon the door of the room I'm in at the lovely and incomparable establishment known as Oheka Castle.

"Come in!" I call.

The door opens, and my father stands there, all decked out in his new suit. His face melts when he sees my mother, and blows her a kiss before stepping into the room and getting a good look at me. "You look gorgeous, honey," he tells me, stepping forward and taking my hand, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. "I couldn't be more honored to be walking you down the aisle today, sweetheart. Today, you become Mrs. Beckett. Feeling nervous?"

"She is now," Henrietta puts in.

"Yeah, new low, Hunter," Gina laughs.

"Daddy, Mommy says 'play nice'!" Livi declares.

"Yeah!" Leia shouts.

"I think this whole this is amusing," Noelle says.

"Hunter, honey, maybe discussing nerves isn't the best thing right now. Why are you here, anyhow?" my mother asks.

"We're at places. That's why I'm here."

"Places!" my mother shouts. "Oh, dear!"

"All okay," Gina says, walking up to me. "Breathe."

"Noted," I reply, breathing deeply.

"Okay," my mother says. "I walk out with one of the three groomsmen. Then the ringbearer walk out, then Henrietta and Noelle with their groomsmen. Then the flower girls. And then you and your father," she says, her eyes filling with tears as she shakes her head. "I can hardly believe this day has come."

"Mom, please don't cry," I say, fighting back tears myself. "Sergio will never forgive me if I ruin this," I say, gesturing to my makeup.

"You're right—don't spoil it!" she says, stepping forward and kissing my cheek. "I love you; I'll see you out there. Come on, girls," she says.

Gina steps forward and embraces me. "Love you," she says and walks out the door to follow my mother.

"You'll do great," Noelle says, squeezing me briefly before taking Livi's hand and walking out of there with her.

"Pretty as a princess, for now, and soon you'll be a queen," Henrietta says rather poignantly before hugging me and taking Leia by the hand and following the rest of my wedding party out of there.

"Ready?" my father asks.

I nod, walking out of the room with him. Going down the corridor, we arrive in the ballroom, where the reception will be held. I walk through it, my father at my side, and hesitate at the door. I reach out and move the curtain ever so slightly, seeing the guests waiting for us to arrive. Livi and Leia are about to drop their petals, and things were definitely speeding up. Suddenly, I didn't want things to go as quickly as they once had...

"Okay, sweetheart?"

I turn and look up at my father. "Yes. Fine."

He smiles, squeezing my hand. "You just say the word, and we're out that front door faster than you can say, 'Don't shoot! I'm a cop!'"

I shake my head at him. "Oh, Dad. Stop. You're too funny," I reply in my typical sarcastic manner.

"Something bothering you, sweetheart?"

I sigh. "Do you think you ever get over your first love?"

His shoulders slack. "You mean Baxter? Well, you fell in love with Lincoln, didn't you, sweetie?"

I nod. "Of course," I reply, peering around the curtain again to catch a glimpse of him down the lawn. "I love him." I hesitate for a moment before looking up at my father again. "Did you love someone before Mom?"

"There was a detective working with me in Homicide before your mom became detective and entered the unit," he replies. "Her name was Gloria Newton—she left the department a few years after your mom joined. Gloria and I were pretty serious for a while in the early years. We'd broken up about a year and a half before your mom joined the unit. She left me for someone else..."

"Does Mom know you were with her?"

"I didn't tell her," he replies, "and I know Gloria didn't. Captain Jennings knew about it, but he never let on about it much—just told the two of us to keep it professional around the squad."

I nod. "I see. But things were different when you met Mom?" I ask, watching as Livi and Leia finish dropping the petals.

"Yes. Way different," my father replies as _Here Comes the Bride_ begins on the string quartet Lincoln and I had hired. The pair of us straighten up then and he squeezes my hand one last time before we walk into full view of the wedding party for the first time. "You ready?" he asks me.

I smile, tears threatening to escape my eyes just as we walk down the stone steps and out onto the beautifully decorated lawn. "For anything," I reply.


	10. Anywhere But Here

Chapter Ten: Anywhere But Here

I walked down the cobblestone path towards the justice of the peace; standing just to his right was Lincoln, dapper in his tuxedo. The bride side was to the left, and the grooms' was to the right; Gina was to stand on my other side, while Henrietta and Noelle stood together. Livi and Leia stood together, rapt, watching me walk down the aisle with my father; Jensen stood proudly beside Lincoln, Fairfield and Thompson just beside him, while all eyes were glued to me. However, I didn't catch any of their looks, as I was completely sidetracked by Lincoln, who smiled at me as I stepped closer.

I turned to my father for the last time as we stepped towards Lincoln, and smile up at him as he leans down, lifting my veil and kissing me on the cheek. We turn to Lincoln, and he hands my hand over to his, and the moment my hand meets his, all my anxiety leaves me. I give a final smile to my father then before walking closer to the justice of the peace, and Lincoln never takes his hand from mine as we smile at this kind man, dressed in a lovely suit for the occasion.

After waiting for our looks of encouragement to begin, he does. "We are gathered here today to bring together Lincoln Matthew Beckett and Edythe Isabelle Grayson in marriage," he says, smiling at each of us in turn. "Lincoln, please repeat after me," he continues. "I, Lincoln Beckett..."

"I, Lincoln Beckett..."

"Take thee, Edythe Grayson..."

"Take thee, Edythe Grayson..."

"As my wedded wife," the justice says.

"As my wedded wife," Lincoln replies, squeezing my hands.

"To have and to hold from this day forward..."

"To have and to hold from this day forward..."

"For better, for worse..."

"For better, for worse..."

"For richer, for poorer..."

"For richer, for poorer..."

"In sickness, and in health..."

"In sickness, and in health," Lincoln says, and his smile sets me completely at ease in that moment.

"To love and to cherish..."

"To love and to cherish..."

"As long as we both shall live," the justice finishes.

"As long as we both shall live," Lincoln replies.

"Now, Edythe, please repeat after me," the justice says. "I, Edythe Grayson..."

"I, Edythe Grayson..."

"Take you, Lincoln Beckett..."

"Take you, Lincoln Beckett..."

"To be my husband."

"To be my husband," I reply, basking in the warm glow I felt at being stared at by none other than the man of my dreams.

"I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad..."

"I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad..."

"In sickness and in health..."

"In sickness and in health..."

"I will love and honor you all the days of my life."

"I will love and honor you all the days of my life," I reply.

"May I have the rings, please?" the justice of the peace asks.

Gina and Jensen step forward and hand over the rings.

"Your rings by their very shape are symbols of eternal unity, without beginning or end. They are the emblem of the love that exists between you and Edythe, and characterize your devotion to one another. Let them always remind you of the commitments you make here today."

Lincoln takes my wedding ring and turns to me, hope and a lightness to his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Edythe, with this ring, I promise to grow with you and build our love, to speak openly and honestly, to listen to you, and to love and to cherish you for all the days ahead. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. With this ring, I thee wed," he says, and slips it onto my finger.

I take Lincoln's ring from the justice, its platinum heavy and cool in my hand, and turn to Lincoln. "Lincoln, with this ring, I promise to grow with you and build our love, to speak openly and honestly, to listen to you, and to love and to cherish you for all the days ahead. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. With this ring, I thee wed," I finish, slipping the ring onto his finger.

The justice of the peace smiles mightily at the two of us, looking like a cockerel of some kind. "Being assured that you are aware of the meaning of this ceremony, I will now ask you to repeat the marriage vows. Do you, Lincoln Beckett, take this woman, Edythe Grayson, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and cherish her through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Lincoln replies.

"And do you, Edythe Grayson, take Lincoln Beckett to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor and cherish him through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," I reply.

"By the act of joining hands, you take to yourself the relation of husband and wife and solemnly promise to love, honor, comfort, and cherish each other so long as you both shall live. therefore, in accordance with the law of the State of New York, I do pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Lincoln stepped forward, cupped my face in his hands for a brief moment and leaned down to kiss me. Immediately, my heart was I my throat as I stood on the tips of my toes and threw my arms around his neck. Nothing could stop us from the inevitable, I realized then, and I was more than happy then to be named as Lincoln's lawfully wedded wife.

"Ladies and gentleman, it is my privilege to introduce to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett!" the justice of the peace said.

We turned to the crowd of well-wishers then—family and friends alike—and I felt the weight of the ring upon my finger, but it was a good weight. As I broke away from Lincoln to embrace my parents, Gina, Livi, Donnie, Mason, Henrietta, Leia, Noelle, and everyone else who thought I owed them a hug. I embraced Olivia and she told me that Don wanted to be there but he couldn't manage to get away. I held Fin to me longest, for he was so close to my own mother that he had become quite like an uncle to me.

The reception seemed to fly by so quickly, and soon Lincoln and I were rushed up to our designated rooms with our own wedding parties to change. I was put into a comfortable skirt, blouse, and wedge sandals before my bags were loaded properly into the waiting limo down below. I was pleased to have my hair taken down as I'd decided to wear it long for my trip to the cruise docks. My purse was handed over to me, filled with my passport, valid identification, lipstick, other forms of makeup, and anything and everything a young woman would need to go on a cruise. My mother, Livi, Gina, Noelle, Henrietta, and Leia all embraced me twofold, before my father entered the room to say goodbye.

"It's nearly an hour to the cruise docks," he says, mid-embrace, to me. "I know Jensen is steady on the road, sweetheart, but I want you safe."

I roll my eyes. "I will be safe, Dad, don't worry," I reply. I turn then at the sound of the door opening, and Lincoln stands there, grinning at me.

"Jensen's already downstairs, and everyone wants to say goodbye," he says, and waits for me to embrace my father one last time.

I cross the room towards him, feeling secure in his embrace, and feel the goose bumps rising on my body when he leans down to kiss me. "Ready to go?" I ask him, crossing my fingers that the answer will be 'yes'.

"When you are," he assures me. The pair of us walk arm in arm down the long corridor, before going down the grand staircase and making our way down the main steps and outside. It is only around eight p.m., and it is still light out as we walk from our place at the start of the procession and towards the waiting limo. Jensen rolls down the front window and tips his hat to us, while Fairfield waves from the passenger seat; they would be accompanying us on the cruise, although were encouraged to take the time to have fun as well.

I embrace Thompson, his husband, and their children before turning back towards my wedding party. I give a final hug to my parents, Gina, Noelle, Henrietta, Livi, Donnie, Mason, Leia, and Olivia and Fin. Finally, Lincoln and I pick up our hands and wave to the well-wishers, who shout phrases from 'good luck' to 'happy travels' as we pile into the limo. Shutting the door behind us, we take off down the path towards the exit of the grounds, before Jensen honks at the property line. Then we turn and drive towards the freeway, back to Manhattan, as the sun begins its slow decline in the sky.

We arrive at the dock within the hour, and are immediately journey inside with Jensen and Fairfield. We make our way upstairs while our luggage is tagged and taken from us, and go into the VIP line. We show off our I.D.'s and passports before we are each presented with our room keys and a map of the ship. We then walk off to go through the security check point, putting our smaller bags into buckets and walking through the metal detector. Once we've all been cleared, we journey onto the boat itself, but not before getting a cruise photo, of which Jensen and Fairfield decline while Lincoln and I smile for the camera before heading directly on board.

Jensen and Fairfield have a two-bedroom balcony cabin, close by Lincoln's and my honeymoon suite. Lincoln tells Jensen and Fairfield to get settled in and gives them the rest of the night off as the pair of us make our way towards our massive honeymoon suite—by Lincoln's reports, that is. Stepping inside, I gawk at its beauty and find I am pleased that our bags have already been delivered. Lincoln has his arms around me immediately and proceeds to nibble ever so slightly at my neck, and my body immediately responds to his touch.

I turn around to face him, smiling up at him. "Why don't you make yourself a bit more comfortable while I go and get your last wedding present?"

Lincoln raises his eyebrows at my statement. "All right," he replies, kissing me briefly before crossing the hallway, past the living room and kitchenette, and back towards the bedroom.

I walk over to where our suitcases were placed and dig through mine, where I know the secret compartment was that I'd hidden my final present for Lincoln. I grabbed ahold of the white chiffon material and made my way to the main bathroom near the front door, and slipped inside, purse in hand, and locked the door behind me. I immediately ran a brush through my hair, and put on a bit more mascara and some red lipstick. Pinching my cheeks to heighten their color, I got out of my traveling clothes and stepped into the chiffon babydoll I'd bought just for my wedding night.

With my hair voluminous and my babydoll in place, I made my way from the bathroom, carefully walking along the high-quality wooden floor and into the bedroom where Lincoln was waiting for me. I stood at the doorway, simply looking at my husband lying there with all his muscled glory. He looked like a cross between Justin Hartley and William Moseley, and I could not be a luckier woman to not only have a man who looked like he did, but a man so filled with kindness and understanding and love that it nearly made me lose my footing whenever I was staring at him for a sustained period.

"Wow," Lincoln whispered, his dark eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he got a good look at me. He gets to his feet, all six feet four of him, and makes his way towards me, looking utterly locked at my appearance. "You look beautiful...as beautiful as I've ever seen you," he says softly in awe.

I bite my bottom lip and lower my eyes. "Thank you," I whisper. I am hardly able to look up at him—he is shirtless, and merely wears his suit pants and boxers, not to mention his platinum wedding band; his muscles, as always, are rippling, and I find I am eager to get those strong arms around me.

Almost as if he's read my thoughts, he pulls me into his arms; my eyes lock with his automatically, and our lips become one as he lifts me into the air. He brings me into his arms, crossing the room with me, our kiss never-ending as he places me upon the center of the great bed. He unzips his suit pants and joins me then, pulling at the robe I've put on which matches the babydoll, and I puts my legs around his torso and bring him closer to me.

"The door..." I say softly between kisses.

"Jensen was instructed to put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on it, and I locked it as we came in—tumbler and bolt," he assures me.

I peer up at him from between my lashes. "All right," I whisper.

I allow him to lift me ever so slightly, before taking the robe off from around my shoulders. I pull down the straps of the babydoll, before pulling it up over my head and off of me as Lincoln steps out of his boxers. I lie back on the sea of pillows at the head of the bed, watching him as he gasps in shock at how I look, and, just as he moves to position himself correctly, the ship pulls out of the harbor.

I feel the sunshine hit my face eventually and slowly open my eyes to see the clock upon the bedside table read approximately 8:32 a.m. I feel Lincoln's arms around me and I lean back into them, delighting in the feeling that washes over me then. I am officially Edythe Isabelle Beckett, wife of the former most eligible bachelor in the State of New York. I turn over on my other side then, and Lincoln's eyes slowly open and lock onto mine; I feel a rush of deliciousness rush through me then when I take in their meaning.

"Good morning, Mr. Beckett," I say softly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Beckett," he replies, pulling me so as I am right up against him, and we mutually stiffen at the proximity. "Did you sleep?"

"Soundly," I reply, leaning forward and positioning my ear against his collar bone to hear his heartbeat. "I quite enjoyed the bed..."

Lincoln chuckles against me. "We'll find out who made the mattress and buy one for all the beds in the house," he replies.

I lean back then and smile up at him. "Hungry?" I ask.

He nods. "Very," he replies. Then, he throws back the comforter and I am laughing at his insisting, roving hands, although soon the laughter turns to ecstasy.

Lincoln and I head to the VIP Lounge for breakfast; it had an impressive view of the Atlantic Ocean all around us, bound for Italy. I'd been initially shocked when Lincoln gave me the official timeline for the honeymoon; I'd been under the incorrect impression that we would fly to Italy and take the cruise from there. It was a shock when we left Manhattan on a boat bound for Italy, and continue through Europe and onto the United Kingdom. Then there would be a plane trip home to Manhattan at the beginning of August.

Lincoln ordered a mushroom and spinach frittata for breakfast while I opted for fried eggs, sausages, and a chocolate croissant. Sipping my sparkling cider to Lincoln's mimosa, we cheered our wedding and our vacation in this beautiful place and just to be privileged in general. I cut into my eggs, chewing them slowly before opting to add salt and pepper to them as we continued along the smooth, blue seas towards Italy.

"There's something I've always wanted to know," Lincoln says, after a lull in the conversation after we each spotted a dolphin.

"What's that?" I ask him.

He smiles to himself. "That tattoo you've got—the one that always gets hidden by your hair..."

"Alligata est legi, in amore omnium," I reply.

"Exactly," he replies. "For years, I asked you what it meant and you wouldn't ever tell me. Then, when you broke the engagement the first time, you said that you were glad that you never told me..."

I nod, sipping my drink. "Yeah, I was."

"Well, now that we're married, do you think you can tell me now?"

I find myself smiling and shaking my head at him. "You really expect me to believe in this day and age that you didn't look up its meaning, even once?" I demand, laughing.

He nods. "Promise," he replies, putting up his hand. "I swear—I never looked up its meaning."

"Okay, fine," I reply. "It means, 'Bound by law, loved by all'."

"Would you ever consider getting another one?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I thought about getting something while we're in Italy," he replies. "There was something my father used to say to my mother..."

"What did he say to her?"

"He would say, 'Per sempre nel mio cuore,'" he replies. "It means—"

"It means 'Forever in my heart' in Italian," I reply. "After I learned Mandarin, I learned Italian." I hesitate for a moment, and say softly, "There's something my father used to say to my mother as well..."

"Which was?"

"He would say, 'Luce della mia vita'. It means..."

"Light of my life," Lincoln replies.

Suddenly, a thought comes to me. "We could get one phrase on one inner wrist, and the second on the other," I reply.

Lincoln grins, reaching out and taking my hands in his. "I love the way you think, Mrs. Beckett," he replies.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Beckett."

We finish our breakfast and decide to hit the top-deck pool afterwards. We return to our cabin to freshen up before changing for the pool; I quickly put on a cover-up while Lincoln merely puts on a button-down shirt. We slip into our flip-flops, hats, and sunglasses before making sure we have our room keys and make our way from our cabin and into the pool area. Lincoln finds us a pair of deck chairs in the sun and we drop off our things before we make quick work of putting on sunscreen for each other. We then kick off our flip-flops and remove our cover-up and button-down shirt respectively before taking off our sunglasses and walk down the stairs and into the pool.

The pool is deserted at this hour for some reason, and Lincoln thinks it is because the other people who have access to it have opted to sleep in, have brunch, or to explore the ship for themselves. He explains that Jensen has contacted him and that he and Fairfield—who are actually as close as brothers—are going to a singles brunch later that morning to try to meet people on the boat. I tell Lincoln that that is a wonderful idea, whereupon I proceed to splash him.

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Was that deliberate, Mrs. Beckett?"

I grin at him. "Perhaps," I reply.

Lincoln surges forward then and pulls me into his arms, causing me to squeal in a moment of surprise and delight. "Maybe I should punish you," he says, holding me tightly beneath the water.

I shudder in a moment of anticipation. "Maybe you should."

Lincoln chuckles, leaning in so as he can whisper in my ear. "Not here—not in public. I wouldn't want people to think I was doing something bad to you, and on our honeymoon of all places."

I pull back from him and run my finger along his lip. "No promises," I reply and he leans down to kiss me.

One week later, we docked in Naples and were permitted off the ship around an hour afterwards. Getting off the ship, we walked into town and managed to get a taxi into Napoli, where we'd done research to find a tattoo parlor. The kind man dropped us off just outside the place, and we stepped inside, telling the kind woman named Marinella Moretti what we had in mind for that day. She agreed to take us at once and was finished with the both of us in under two hours.

"Grazie," she said as we paid her.

"Prego," Lincoln replied.

"Puoi dirci un buon ristorante per mangiare a pranzo?" I asked her.

Marinella looked shocked and delighted at the prospect of speaking Italian with a mere American tourist.

"Io posso," she replies. "Prendere un taxi per la pizzeria a circa cinque isolati di distanza chiamato ristorante Da Vinci. Lo troverete; ha un tetto rosso e si trova in un vecchio edificio."

"Grazie mille!" I call over my shoulder as Lincoln and I proceed to walk to the front door of the parlor.

"Buona giornata!" Lincoln calls to her.

"Anche tu!" Marinella calls back.

We keep our tattoos bandaged as we walk down the street, looking for a taxi. We manage to find one quickly and pile in, giving the description of the restaurant so as we can get there efficiently. The taxi driver is very friendly with us and we make our way down five blocks until we arrive; Lincoln pays him handsomely before we get out of the little car and make our way inside the restaurant. We are greeted by the host, who asks us how we are.

"Stiamo bene, grazie per chiedere," I greet him.

The man smiles and shows us to our table and leaves us to look over the menu. I am such a fan of Italian food that, even though I took the language and speak it, I am able to figure out without much effort what everything is on the menu. We order a Margherita pizza to share and a pair of Italian sodas and wait for our meal to arrive. I can smell all kinds of wonderful scents coming from the kitchen, and I wonder how long I could stay in such a brilliant place like this little restaurant in Italy before I grew tired of the smell. I take a closer look at my bandages and cross my fingers that the needles were really clean and that Lincoln and I don't get an incurable infection whilst on our honeymoon.

"Are you happy?"

I look up at Lincoln's remark. "Of course I am," I reply, reaching out and taking his hands in mine. "Why wouldn't I be? We're in one of the most beautiful countries in the world, on our honeymoon..." I smile and shake my head at him. "I mean, how could I not be? I'm with the man I love..."

"I want you to be happy," he says, squeezing my hands. "I want to show you all there is to see in the world. I want us to take vacation after vacation together and to experience all there is to experience. I want to go to Holland and pick Tulips; I want to dine in five-star restaurants in France; I want to tour castles in England; I want to hike in the snows of Russia; I want to help villages in Africa build schools and hospitals... I want to do so much with you, Edythe."

Suddenly, I wonder if I am understanding his meaning correctly. "And, in the meantime, you want to put off having children?"

He smiles. "The children will come when they're meant to," he replies. "Whether it's next week or next month or next year, we'll be ready. Remember, we've got that big house to come back to."

"Yes, and I want to fill it with children—our children," I reply. "I've always wanted a big family, Lincoln."

Lincoln kisses my palm, wrapping my fingers around his kiss. "As big as you want," he promises me. "One child or ten—fine with me."

"Not ten!" I say immediately, laughing.

"More than one?"

I nod. "More than one."

"I'll drink to that," he says, clinking his glass against mine.

The pizza is some of the best food I've had in my life; the basil is fresh, as is the mozzarella, and I can taste the spiciness of the tomatoes with every bite. The crust is flaky but soft and warm, and is a perfect accompaniment to the pizza. Once the pizza is finished and we are getting the flour off our fingers, our waiter brings over a plate with something unknown to me.

"Questo è bellissimo!" I cry, seeing the custard and sponge cake but still unsure as to what it is. "Che cos'è?"

"Zuppa Inglese," the waiter replies. "Complimenti di Papa Antonio. Per la felice coppia in luna di miele," he tells us.

"Si prega di ringraziarlo per tutto. Tutto era delizioso," I reply.

"Grazie," the waiter says before slipping away.

"Looks delicious, whatever it is," Lincoln says, raising his fork.

I move to pick up mine as well. "Let's see," I reply.

We each put our forks into the confectionary, careful not to drop any anywhere, and smile at one another. We put our pieces together briefly, cheering it, and share a laugh. Then, we pop it into our mouths, and I am completely filled with the feeling of ecstasy again.

We agree to meet Jensen and Fairfield for dinner that evening in the main dining room we were assigned to on the cruise ship. I wear a new black dress that night which is cut low in an oval shape and exposes my shoulders and a bit of my back as well. I wear a necklace that Lincoln has surprised me with, as well as my ring, and a pair of new black heels. Lincoln is dapper in one of his many new suits and his cerulean tie I've gotten him, which matches his eyes.

We head down to dinner, meeting Jensen and Fairfield just outside the double doors of the place. A kind cruise ship dining room employee escorts us inside once our name is given and shows us our table by the window. It is a four-person round table, as it goes by how many people are in your booking party. We are presented with our menus forthwith, and Lincoln immediately moves to sit beside me, with Jensen on my other side.

The waiter assigned to our table steps forward and greets us. "My name is Brian and I'll be your waiter for the next few weeks."

"I'm Lincoln Beckett, and this is my wife, Edythe," Lincoln says.

"I'm William Jensen," Jensen replies, "I work for Lincoln."

"I'm Travis Fairfield, I also work for Lincoln," Fairfield says.

"Nice to meet all of you. Could I get you all anything to start you off?" the young waiter asks politely.

"Yes, please," Lincoln replies, not even bothering to look at the menu first. "A bottle of your best Dom Pérignon for the table, please."

"Very good, sir. Are we celebrating anything this evening?"

"Lincoln and I were actually married yesterday afternoon," I reply.

"Well, congratulations!" Brian says with a grin. "I'll get that champagne bottle and ice bucket out for you all right away. Just holler if you need anything, and I'll be back to take your dinner order," he says, and nods to each of us in turn before walking off to the kitchen.

"Nice guy," Fairfield says.

"Seemed genuine," Jensen puts in.

After a few moments, Jensen and Fairfield are busy comparing notes about their excursions onto land as well as the singles cocktail party they attended the night before. I didn't mind—hey, even though they shared a room, they could still have other things to share, right? I sipped at my water, looking over the menu; I noticed that they had a standard, every night dinner meal, along with specials that were changed every night. I opted to choose the Mediterranean garlic chicken with mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad. For dessert, I asked for crème brulle and turned to see that Lincoln was opting for a Cobb salad with a steak, baked potato, and bread pudding for dessert.

"Looks good," Lincoln remarked as we ate our salads.

I nod. "I like it. How's yours?"

"Perfect," he replied, reaching down below the table and touching my leg. "But somehow I suspect I am entitled to find it second to what I really find to have that aforementioned adjective..."

I force myself to keep a straight face. "Yes. Well. Somehow I think you would be allowed to that," I say, and Lincoln left his hand exactly where it was.

We left Naples that evening, and next went onto Rome. Monaco was the third stop on our journey, followed by a day in Marseilles. Barcelona came next, followed by Valencia and Gibraltar. Lisbon and Porto came next, and then we were at sea for days until we arrived at La Rochelle in the first week of July. From there, we went on to The Hague and then we finally turned around and docked at Southampton. It was wonderful to be on land again, and Jensen and Fairfield fetched our rental car for us to get into London.

We arrived in London around three in the afternoon in the middle of the third week of July. Our reservations at The Ritz London were confirmed as we drove across town to get there. We gave our names at the desk and Lincoln's and my keys for our penthouse suite and Jensen and Fairfield's keys for their executive suite were handed over in due course. We accepted help with our bags before going up in the elevator and getting to our rooms. Lincoln—who had already managed to get his hands on pound notes—handed over fifty pound notes to each hotel employee who assisted us to our suite.

"What do you say we do some sight-seeing?" Lincoln asks, digging through his suitcases for something.

I bite my lip, conflicted. Sure, I wanted to do some sight-seeing, but I was so tired from the transfer from the cruise ship to land that I wanted to sleep. "Why don't you take off with the boys for a while?" I asked.

He stops what he's doing and straightens up, staring at me in confusion. "Are you sure? Are you not feeling well?" he asks, moving to hold me close.

I shake my head. "No, of course not," I assure him. "Just tired, that's all. Besides, we're going to be in London for the next week and a half."

He smiles. "You're right," he replies. "And then on to the rest of the UK."

I nod. "Exactly—Ireland and Scotland. Won't it be wonderful to explore?" I ask him, feeling secure in his arms.

"I've made us a dinner reservation for tonight—Italian. Your favorite," he says, his arms around my waist.

"Hmmm," I reply. "That sounds lovely. Will Jensen and Fairfield be joining us tonight?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No. They're going to get into night life. So, I guess it'll just be you and me tonight."

I nod again. "Yes—just the two of us. Now, go and hang out with the boys. Maybe you'll find something fun to get into for a few hours."

"You're sure, now?"

I smile up at him. "Positive. I want to take a shower and have a nap. Then I want to change into something nice for dinner. I have plenty to do. And then there's the matter of unpacking..."

He nods. "I suppose so. All right," he says, leaning down to kiss me. "I'll be back before seven—that's when our reservation is."

"All right," I call after him as he heads into the main room to gather his wallet, keys, and a light sweater before heading out.

I quickly walked into the living room and opened the door after him, peering around the door frame and waited for him to walk through the elevator doors to the floor where Jensen and Fairfield's suite was. Getting a hoodie sweatshirt, I put it on over my clothes and would make sure to pull the hood up once outside. I made my way outside around fifteen minutes later, when Lincoln texted me that he was at a pub somewhere, and I told him that was wonderful.

As I left via the main foyer of the hotel, I motioned to the taxi waiting out front for me that I was who it was looking for. I climbed in and gave the address to the driver, and requested him to wait until I'd finished at my destination to bring me back to the hotel, and he agreed. I had Map-Quested directions to the nearest drug store, and it was to there that I was headed. The journey by car was around eight minutes and, when I arrived, I went inside and up to the counter.

"Hi," I said in a rush to the cashier. "Can you tell me what aisle pain medication is in, please?" I asked.

"Aisle 9A, ma'am," replied the cashier in a London accent.

"Thank you," I replied quickly, and made my way down the indicated aisle. I found some pills for a headache and relief flowed through me then as I picked up one of the plastic bottles upon the shelf. Just as I was about to leave the aisle, I caught a glimpse of the items placed just next to the pain pills: a variety of boxes containing pregnancy tests. My mouth dropped open—how could a drug store do that?! I mean, having a headache or some other ailment didn't make you pregnant...right? It was then that my stomach dropped when I was faced with my greatest enemy—math. I counted the days in my head then, coming up empty every time. I remembered when I'd had my last period—just a few weeks before the wedding. And now, here it was, the end of July, and I was over eight weeks late for my next one.

Initially, I thought it had been the stress of the wedding and the different eating and sleeping schedule I'd had during the honeymoon. Plus, I had been doing all kind of things my body wasn't used to over the last few weeks and maybe it had all caught up to me, right? But then, it occurred to me, that I was an every-twenty-eight-days kind of girl, and something didn't seem to add up here.

I shake my head at one of the boxes in front of me. "I must be out of my mind," I mutter to myself, grabbing one of the boxes and bringing it up to the cashier, along with the bottle of pain pills.

I hand over two twenty pound notes to cover the purchase and thank the man, before heading outside and back into the cab. I was then directing the cab driver back to the hotel, clutching my paper bag like it was my life force as we drove along the main roads. I paid the driver and got out of the car at the entrance of the hotel, concealing the bag in my purse as I made my way back to the penthouse suite on the top floor of the hotel.

I let myself in and am relieved that Lincoln hasn't returned unexpectedly. It isn't even four p.m. yet, so I have plenty of time to do everything. I take the pain pills for my headache, and then head into the bathroom to run a hot bath for myself. I fiddle with the boxed pregnancy test, frequently picking it up and placing it back onto the counter in front of me, beside the sink. Finally, I rip open the box and take out the white plastic stick and set it back down upon the sink as I sit down on the loo and do my business. I then fill a provided up with my urine and place the pregnancy test inside it, and set a timer on my phone for three minutes. I perch on the edge of the loo, stopping my bath water and wait for the results that could potentially make or break my marriage.

Sure, Lincoln _said_ he wanted kids, just not yet. I knew Lincoln; even though he said one thing, he really meant another. What in the hell was going to happen if this test came up positive and we had a baby—a _baby_!—to take care of. We hadn't even done the dog thing first, and we'd only been married for two minutes. We hadn't even lived in our house for a sustainable period, nor had we had a change to adjust to normal, trivial, every-day married life... A baby; goddamn hormones and their ability to work against you...

And what on earth would my mother end up saying to me? I had only just started working for MHU, and I knew full well that me getting pregnant would ultimately result in desk duty and then, paid leave. I wanted kids, sure, but after a year or two of marriage beforehand, when the fuss of my wedding to Lincoln had died down considerably, and we were able to enjoy each other. What was he going to do? I didn't know, but I didn't want to find out. I knew he would never lay a hand on me, because part of him knew full well that any cop in Manhattan and Greater New York would have his ass and everything that came with it. But I'd seen his discontent with some of his employees over the years—the coldness in his eyes, the thin line his otherwise thick mouth became, and his voice... He would yell at people and bring them to their knees; granted, some of his employees deserved it or were working for someone else behind Lincoln's back, but still...

My timer went off then and I found myself rooted to the spot where I sat upon the white, porcelain bowl. I found my hands—gripped together—were shaking, and it took all I had to tear them apart and reach out towards the pregnancy test. I get to my feet and pour the rest of my urine down the toilet and flush, all the while keeping the white plastic stick upside-down in my hand. Finally, I exhaled, and nodded to myself.

"It's now or never," I say quietly, in encouragement. "Come on. How bad could it be, really? A baby, finally..." I turn over the test and my eyebrows raise at the result looking back at me. "Okay," I say to myself. "If that's the way it's going to be, that's the way it's going to be..."

END OF SEASON ONE


	11. Evermore

Chapter Eleven: Evermore

I turn at the sound of my mother's office door opening, and she motions for me to come inside. When I returned from touring Europe as part of the second leg of my honeymoon with Lincoln, she had been on vacation with my father to Hawaii for their anniversary. Nate had been running the squad with Melanie in her absence and while the pair of them were perfectly capable, nobody can replace your mother in any position whatsoever.

I get to my feet and cross the squad room to my mother's office and step inside automatically, waiting for her to shut the door. I move when she directs me to do so into one of the chairs and I lower myself into one, crossing my ankles in an automatic manner and place my hands on my lap. I watch as my mother crosses the office and sits in her desk chair, looking me over, for—other than a brief hello earlier that day—we hadn't spoken since my wedding.

"The final paperwork for your transfer came today," she says, pushing the personal aside and getting right down to business.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

She smiles. "It means you can go on big, undercover assignments now, with Noelle or on your own. Now you're officially my employee, so you don't need a partner as supervision but protection."

"Do you have something in mind?" I asked, wondering if recent developments would not permit any assignments in particular.

She smiles. "Remember that assignment I did with Fin?"

I nod. "Of course—you did it because of me."

"Damn right I did—and I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she says, reaching out her hand and I took it. "You, your siblings, and your father are the most important things in the world to me—I want you to remember that."

I nod. "I remember. Now, what do you have for me?"

"Narcotics has a new captain, Rebecca Lyons—I knew her when she and I were still detectives. Anyhow, since Noelle and her brother Parker are so close, Parker mentioned your ability to get Ryder to talk. Rebecca got her hands on a copy of the footage from Barba and was really impressed with you, Edythe."

I raise my eyebrows. "That's very generous of Captain Lyons."

My mother smiled. "It is. Anyhow, Parker's been given an assignment to help infiltrating one of the groups of Ryder's men. I need you to go in there as Parker's on-again-off-again girlfriend to help him with the bust."

"Wait a minute—couldn't these guys potentially recognize me after my days of giving them favors in exchange for drug ingredients? Besides, Ryder must have men on the inside and the outside that he stays in contact with..."

My mother nods. "Yes, I know. Which is why we thought of that already," she says as there's a tap on her door and I am shocked when Paulo comes inside and waves to me. "After seeing how wonderful a job Paulo did on you the last time you had to go undercover—without my knowledge beforehand, but it's in the past, so we won't dwell on it—I knew I had to find out who Paulo was."

"I was shocked that a woman so young and lively could have a daughter in their twenties, Edythe, but once she explained the adoption, I was up to speed," Paulo replies with a laugh.

"I've hired Paulo as Manhattan Homicide's new stylist," my mother continues swiftly. "He has been trained over the summer to go over cases where men and women have had severe drug addictions and to learn about makeup, hair, skin, habits, and general fashion style," says my mother in a proud voice. "He's ready to take you on and transform you into a fake woman for the assignment. Your code name is Raven Serena Underwood."

"Not highlighted, though, right?" I ask as Paulo plays with my hair, which I'd had trimmed to an inch and a half below my shoulders.

"Oh, no honey—your hair's too dark for that," Paulo says, tutting to himself as he inspects my roots.

My mother chuckles at the double meaning. "No, honey—Serena is your middle name and Raven is your first name."

I nod. "Gotcha," I reply, managing to get Paulo to stop fussing. "But there's one thing we should discuss..."

My mother turns at the sound of her phone vibrating. "Whatever it is can wait until your assignment is over..."

"That's the thing," I reply as Paulo proceeds to fuss again. "How long is this thing going to last?"

She shrugs, writing a text or email reply before turning back to look at me. "You know as well as I do, Edythe, that these things can take weeks. Remember, I couldn't bring you into my home right away during my assignment because the social services didn't want you alone with your father..."

"It's just that if this thing lasts months, we're going to have a real problem on our hands—like, a severe problem..."

My mother rolls her eyes. "Whatever it is, it can be taken care of—what's the problem here, Edythe?"

I bite my lip and look at Paulo, and my mother visibly stiffens. My heart sinks when she tells him to excuse us for a moment, and Paulo leaves down the hall where I assume his office is. I turn back to my mother, and sigh. "I'm sorry," I reply, shaking my head, "this isn't how I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell Lincoln first, but since Henrietta's accident and us coming home weeks earlier than expected, it's been a trying time..."

My mother sighs. "I know it can't be easy—none of us were prepared to lose her, darling." She shakes her head. "How's Leia adjusting?"

"As well as can be expected... Lincoln and I are up late every night talking about what's best for her. She loves the house, but the question about where Henrietta is just keeps coming up in conversation..."

"Have you discussed what you're going to do?"

"Of course, all the time. I really want to adopt her, and since her sperm donor father doesn't have any rights, and her grandparents are deceased and Henrietta's only other sibling is Barney, and he doesn't have any interest in adopting Leia—sad, but true—we're the only other option..."

"You want to be a mother?" my mother asks.

I lock my eyes with hers. "This isn't how I wanted to answer that question," I say, letting out a sigh. "Like I said, Lincoln doesn't even know..."

"Lincoln doesn't know you want to adopt Leia?"

"No, he doesn't know yet—not fully, anyway..."

"Then what are you—?" she asks, and suddenly cuts herself off. "Edythe Isabelle Beckett, do you mean to tell me that you're...?"

I nod. "Yes. Yes, Mom. I'm lying to my husband already..."

My mother runs her hands through her hair briefly before looking me over. "How long have you wanted to...?"

"Immediately," I reply. "Who wouldn't?"

My mother sighs. "I suppose you're right..."

I nod. "Yes," I say quietly. "I just want Leia to be safe and happy, but I don't know how to tell Lincoln..."

"Well, you didn't tell Lincoln, obviously," my mother says.

I roll my eyes. "You're right—I didn't. It was just after our honeymoon got interrupted—what was I supposed to tell him?"

"The truth?"

I shake my head. "No. When we were in Italy, in not so many words, he said that he wanted to hold off on having kids for a while. I couldn't tell him; and we went on all these excursions that the days just got away from us. We were so tired that we hardly slept together for the rest of the honeymoon and the rest of the time, he was getting calls from work. And then we got the phone call about Henrietta's accident and that was that..."

"What about after? It's been weeks," my mother says, a bit impatiently. "Leia had her initial adjustment period, along with Lincoln opening up another branch of the practice on Long Island to be closer to her," I reply. "It's all been very hectic since the homecoming, Mom," I say, shaking my head. "I would've told you sooner, but all this would've been a lot to unload in just one phone call, and I wasn't even intending on telling you—"

"Edythe!" she cries, hurt.

"—until after I broke the news to Lincoln, which I was going to do, until he got buried in this new case," I say, wishing she would wait before interrupting me. "I know it's not ideal, especially now, but everything is complicated and I'm feeling a little lost right now."

"I know it must not be easy," she says after a period of silence. "Lincoln working all the time... Have you asked him to take it easy and to pay more attention to you and to Leia?"

I shrug. "Doesn't do much good," I reply. "All he does is say that we took off so much time for the summer that he might lose the clientele he's had these last few years if he continues slacking off."

My mother sighs. "I remember when your father and I were first starting out—it was so hard, especially when the argument of competence came up in the office setting. I remember we constantly had to act like virtual strangers when it came to our everyday professional lives. He and I, in the beginning, couldn't keep our hands off each other—I know this might be weird to hear, but let's face it, sweetheart, we're both adults here."

I shrug. "Doesn't bother me," I reply.

"I think we both became so wrapped up in our work that we lost sight of who we really were," she tells me. "When he transferred to IAB, I couldn't wait for him to go—that was when I'd decided to file for divorce and full custody of you, Livi, and Donnie, although you had your own choice to make. I was touched that you wanted to stay with me..."

I sigh. "I suppose since my record have been wiped clean, I can be honest with you now..."

"What?"

"I stayed with you _because_ you were so preoccupied," I reply. "Face it, Mom—I was an addict, and you were my enabler."

My mother sighs, mixing it with a laugh and shaking her head. "Yeah," she says. "I suppose you'd be correct in that statement." She runs her hand along her cherry wood desk, which she has since perched upon. "I don't regret adopting you, sweetheart, I just wish I was a bit older. Let's face it—half the time I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

"It's all a learning curve, Mom."

She smiles. "Are we graded on a curve? Parents?"

"The normal ones and the ones who exceed expectations are."

"And your biological parents?"

I fix her with a look. "We don't have to go there, do we?"

"Point taken," she replies. "Listen, honey, if you don't want to do the assignment because of Leia, I understand. Just go over every detail with Noelle and we'll tweak your backstory a bit—Raven Underwood can be Parker's sister while undercover."

I raise an eyebrow. "But their surnames..."

"Half-sister—whatever," my mother says, all-business again as she circles back around her desk and sits.

I bite my lip. "Leia's pediatrician and grief counselor says the transition period is going well," I reply. "Is there any way that I could be snuck out of the operation on nights to go back home to Leia and Lincoln? I know it's a lot to ask, but, as I'm sure you can understand, money is no object."

My mother sighs. "You'd have to go through a trial period," she replies. "As in, the gang would have to trust you. Before that, you're stuck with them."

"How long did it take?" I ask her.

"How long did what take?"

"When you went under with Fin," I reply. "How long did it take before they seemed to trust you?"

"It was quick, because that division's leader had me believing he was a British investigator undercover," she replies. "However, your father understood that I had to be there constantly—we said our goodbyes beforehand. Fin was completely overprotective and said that me entering into a relationship with this agent wasn't a good idea, even though it was all for getting information. I just remember being told to tie up loose ends before I went under..."

"What kinds of loose ends?"

She smiles sadly, lowering her eyes. "I spoke with a lawyer about transferring my custody of you to your father. They said that since he worked in law enforcement that he would still be considered as a good parent..."

"You never told me that," I reply.

She shakes her head at the notion. "It's not something you really talk about—it's just understood that every day you put your life on the line for the protection of innocent people."

"Do you ever wish you became an actress?" I want to know.

My mother chuckles lightly at that. "Oh, you know, maybe—now and again, as the years went by. After a long day that wasn't a very good one, I suppose the thought crosses my mind every so often. But I know full well that if I'd decided that path, I'd still be under my parent's thumb in some way. I became myself when I took this job."

"Became yourself?"

"Exactly," she replies. "My mother was so old-fashioned that she thought certain jobs were only for women."

"That's insane!" I cry. "She was a plastic surgeon—a kind of doctor!" My mother laughs. "Which is what I told her, but she was under the impression that it was an advanced form of a beautician technician—her words, not mine—and so it qualified as a woman's job."

I shake my heads. "I really hate how other generations automatically assume that they always know best..."

My mother reaches across her desk again and takes my hand. "Well, honey, you yourself think that you know best."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe."

"And how about this assignment?" she asks. "Should we give it to Noelle, or do you want it?"

"My call?" I ask.

"Your call."

I sigh. "I'll take it."

"We can't always guarantee your protection," she tells me. "And you'd have to explain as much to Lincoln."

I nod. "I know," I reply. "I just don't know which bombshell would be more appropriate to drop first..."

She smiles. "You'll know when the time is right," she tells me.

Jensen picks me up after work later that night; I am permitted to leave before six every night so as I don't get caught in traffic on the long drive home. I am thankful that Thompson—whose family actually lives just outside Long Island—always has dinner waiting for me when I get home. He'd texted me at lunch that day and told me that dinner that night is steak and baked potatoes with my favorite Caesar salad on the planet, and that sounds perfect. He informs me that he's made his famous molten chocolate lava cake—Leia's favorite—and that he's made sure that it'll be kept hidden from her so as I can still have some upon my arrival.

I answer various emails on the drive home and make small talk with Jensen about the day. Since Jensen is duty-bound to keep our drives a secret—and since he works as our head of security—I am permitted to tell him about the assignment. He is worried, of course, but knows how capable I am at my job and tells me that I should probably tell Lincoln about it as soon as possible. I tell him I understand his concern; he knew as well as I did that because of both our workloads, and the accident which had resulted in Leia being put into our custody, that Lincoln and I had been out of sync for the last month.

We arrive at the big house on Long Island and my bones ache; I am pleased that it is a Friday and I don't have to make the drive until Monday morning. Jensen almost immediately gets out of the car and opens my door for me, and I thank him as I walk up to the front door; he hurries after me and unlocks it before turning to put the car away. It is around seven-thirty by this point, and I cross my fingers that I didn't miss Leia's bedtime again after I hang up my coat and get out of my shoes, allowing my feet to breathe again.

"I'm home!" I call out, wondering who will decide to greet me.

There is a squeal from upstairs, followed by the sound of tights running on hard wood as Leia runs from her room and slides down the hallway. "Hi!" she cries out, bouncing down the stairs in a precarious manner and runs to me. "Aunt Edythe, Aunt Edythe, you're home!" she says, jumping into my arms.

I chuckle at her and look her up and down before kissing her forehead. "I am home," I reply, pulling her in for a quick hug. "How are you? Did you have a good day?"

"Yes," Leia replies, tossing her golden-brown hair. "I went to preschool."

"Did you?" I ask as I walk into the kitchen, knowing full well what Leia's schedule was, but very interested nonetheless. "What did you learn today?"

"We had language hour today!" she proclaims. "They say that language is very important for stim-u-lation," she says, pronouncing the difficult word.

"Your teacher says that?" I ask, setting her down on her booster seat before turning to the fridge to get out my dinner.

"Yes!" Leia says happily. "She says we need to pick a language before we start kindergarten so we can learn another one."

 _Well, her English is certainly excellent_ , I think to myself; I remember how much Henrietta had encouraged reading with her, and how much of a direct copy I thought Leia was of me at that age. "Have you given any thought to what language you might want to learn?" I ask her.

"J'y ai beaucoup pensé," Leia replies without missing a beat.

I raise my eyebrows before putting my dinner into the oven. "Je suis content que tu y penses," I reply, flashing her a smile.

"Les deuxièmes langues sont importantes," she tells me. "That's what my teacher says, anyway. How many do you know again?"

"A few," I reply. "I know English, French, Spanish, Mandarin, and Swedish. I also am taking those Rosetta Stone courses in Italian and Hungarian," I tell her. "It's always good to be kept on your toes, sweetheart."

Leia smiles and nods, eager to continue telling me about her day. She watches me eating my dinner, and I slip her a second slice of cake, on the promise that she won't tell Lincoln about it. I then bring her upstairs and run her a hot bubble bath before she gets into it. I keep my nose halfway in and halfway out of a book throughout her bath, as her pediatrician had informed Lincoln and I to make sure to allow Leia to be independent about certain things. After her bath, I bring Leia to her room, putting her into a nightgown before she selects a few books. I am touched when she selects _Matilda_ by Roald Dahl, flashing back to reading it myself as a child. I then decide to buy her the _Harry Potter_ series for her next birthday in two months, wondering what the next few months would ultimately bring to our family.

After finishing a fourth chapter that evening, I saw that Leia was completely asleep and I find a smile threatening to overtake my face at her peacefulness. I kiss her forehead and switch on her night light before turning off the big light and leave her in her bedroom alone. I shut the door behind me and walk down to the end of the hallway where the master bedroom is and let myself in. Empty, as it always has been since our homecoming since Lincoln had made it a point to make his work top-priority since we returned home.

I go into my bathroom and take a shower, changing into my nightgown, robe, and slippers once I've finished. I leave via one of the three doors of my bedroom which lead downstairs to the library, where Lincoln has set up his study. I make my way inside and he looks up, giving me a brief smile before dipping his head back to his work. From where I'm standing, it looks like some form of deposition for the latest case he's working on.

"Will you be at a stopping point soon?" I ask, softly.

"Yes—almost done proofreading this damn thing and then I'm yours. Just to the end of this page and then I'm finished for the night," he tells me.

"No rush," I reply, turning to look at some of the spines of the expensive books which came with the house, wondering if I'll ever have time to read them. It is when Lincoln audibly lowers his pencil, gets to his feet and comes up behind me that my stereotypical squeal of shock is not lost on him.

"Well, hello there, Mrs. Beckett," he whispers, moving my hair out of the way of my neck and putting his lips upon it. "Miss me today?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I ask him, feeling my eyes rolling back in my head at the feeling of his mouth on me.

"Oh, I should think so," he replies.

I turn to face him then, not knowing what to do or what to say, despite knowing that communication is necessary, especially now. "Lincoln, we need to talk," I tell him quietly.

He smiles, leaning down to kiss me. "Talk can come later..."

I kiss him for a moment but pull away. "Lincoln, I'm serious. Please," I say quietly, desperation at the back of my tone. "We work all day, parent Leia, and then we either collapse from exhaustion for that or from sex. We need to talk about something, please—just one adult conversation with my husband is all I ask, one that doesn't revolve around Leia's preschool's methods or if we're paying the household staff enough..." He sighs, running his hands through his hair. "You're right—I know you're right, Edythe," he says, stepping what is considered an appropriate distance away from me and leaning back against his desk. "We need to have a conversation once in a while about everything that's been going on..."

"Is something going on?" I ask him, confused. "I know that ever since Joan left your office that things got a little out of hand, ever since Margo took over a few weeks ago... Are things going all right with her?"

"Margo is a wonderful person—Joan trained her herself before she left after little April got sick, and we know how important family is," he tells me. "But ever since Margo started work, I just feel like there's this underlying attraction that she feels for me," he says softly. "You know me—I head into the office three times a week while we have Gretchen subbing in for me to be here with Leia, but I know that I shouldn't encourage the attraction, but..."

I raise my eyebrows. "You encourage it?"

"Not in the way you think," he replies. "Just that it makes me a bit satisfied that I'm still somewhat desirable to the general public. That's not a crime, is it?" he asks me.

"If you're asking me permission to cheat, then you've successfully given me a reason to hate you," I reply, cuttingly.

"Cheat?!" Lincoln cries, hurt. "Never! I wouldn't fault you for flirting with another man, Edythe..."

"Flirting? That's all it is?"

"Pure, harmless flirting," Lincoln replies.

I roll my eyes. "You'll do what you want to anyway," I say, feeling my shoulders going slack as I make my way to the door. "Oh, that reminds me—I did have something of my own to discuss with you."

"What?" he asks, immediately at my heels.

I turn around to face him. "I got an undercover assignment opportunity today and I'm going to take it."

Lincoln looks shocked. "Under what circumstances?"

I shrug. "Narcotics asked for me," I reply. "Some of Ryder's gang is still out there and I have to take them down."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Of course—what part of my job isn't?"

"Desk work?" he asks.

At once, I feel my jaw setting. "If you think that just because I took your name that it means that I'll just sit humbly by and work permanently at my desk like a good wife, then you're wrong," I fire back at him. "That's not the kind of woman I am, Lincoln, and if you wanted a wife like that, then you chose wrong."

He sighs, shaking his head. "That's not what I meant..."

"What did you mean, then?"

"I only meant that I don't want to see you coming to any harm," he replies, reaching out and taking my hands. "Leia and I need you and I want you safe with me always..."

I pull away from him immediately. "That's impossible when it comes to being a detective, Lincoln," I tell him. "I go in for a makeover first thing Monday and then I'll be off. Try to make the most of this weekend with me," I say quietly, before leaving his office and shutting his door softly behind me.

The weekend passed quickly and I left the house at six a.m. on Monday morning to get to the squad room in order to ready myself for the day ahead. I'd been told that I would receive a visitor during the makeover process, but I wouldn't allow myself to let the information get to me as I spoke quietly to Jensen on the drive. We left Long Island entirely and drove into Manhattan, arriving just before eight o'clock as I allowed Jensen to leave me off by the homicide building.

"See you when I see you," I say softly to him.

"Be careful, ma'am," he replies.

I smile at him. "I'll certainly do my best," I reply, slipping out of the car. I make my way inside and head up to the squad room, up the elevator and down the hall and soon I'm there. I am told to report to Paulo's office, which is just like a luxury salon/spa, and my mouth drops when I see who's there. "Olivia! Fin!" I cry out, and am greeted with a hug from each of them.

"We didn't want to miss a minute of this," Fin announces, turning slightly as Paulo continues mixing something.

"Certainly an interesting look Paulo has picked out for you," Olivia reports.

"I trust him completely," I reply as the door opens behind me, and my mother walks in with Parker and who I assume is Rebecca Lyons.

"Morning, sweetheart," my mother says, flashing me a smile. "Rebecca," she says, turning to the woman of about five-feet-eight standing next to her, "this is my daughter, Detective Edythe Beckett."

Rebecca promptly smiles; she has raven hair and bright blue eyes. "Pleasure to meet you at last, Edythe," she says, putting out her hand.

"The pleasure's mine, Captain Lyons," I reply, shaking her hand. "Hi, Parker—good to see you again," I say.

"It's been a while—normally I'd say graduation, but I _was_ at the wedding," he says with a laugh.

"You were," I say, sharing in his easy laughter.

"All right," Paulo says, gently clapping his hands together and causing us all to face him head-on. "I've got to get Edythe ready now. If you all promise to keep your voices no louder than a whisper, and not to interfere whatsoever with the creation that is this young detective here, I'll allow you all to stay." He faces me then and flashes a smile. "I always do the work on the detective who will take the longest first."

"Is someone else going undercover besides me and Parker?" I ask.

He smiles. "Olivia here has consented to allow Narcotics to borrow Fin to go under with the both of you—and I'm going to be working on all three of you this morning," he says proudly. "I hope to be done by noon."

"Too bad Munch isn't here," Fin says quietly to my mother and Olivia. "He'd say that with a face like mine, just four hours to work on me would be impossible to complete..."

"Come," Paulo says, holding out a hand to me.

I put my hand in his and am told to sit in the chair. I wait as he shampoos and conditions my hair, before adding extensions to it, although my jaw hits the floor when he proceeds to prepare to bleach it. "I thought my name was Raven!" I cry out, turning to my mother. "Blonde hair wouldn't make sense..."

"She's right," my mother says softly to Rebecca.

"We'll have it changed," Rebecca says quickly. "You'll be too recognizable with your dark hair," she says gently to me. "Once he does your hair, he'll do your eyebrows as well, and I don't anticipate any other hair needs to be done," she muses to herself, and I look away, my face heating.

I remain silent as Paulo strips my dark hair away from me, turning blonde before my eyes. It is fully down my back again, just as it was when I married Lincoln, except this time, it's been flat-ironed. I am then brought to my feet, and pushed behind a screen by Paulo who hands me a white crop top, leather jacket, black mini tube skirt, and finished off with black strappy wedge heels. I am given a gaudy golden necklace, a few rings, and a chunky white bracelet. Then, Paulo tells me to wait behind the screen and promptly puts makeup on me, handing me a makeup bag at the end of it filled with plenty of the stuff he's put on me. Lastly, he hands me a compact mirror, and I slowly force myself to open it.

"What the hell have you done to me?!" I demand.

"Not finished yet," he says, shoving me into a high stool-like chair behind the screen and sighing. "How do you feel about piercings?"

I shrug. "At this point, does it matter?"

He smiles. "That's the spirit," he says. He then produces a professional-looking piercing gun and promptly puts a small platinum stud in my nose. Next, he puts two platinum hoops in my standard lobe piercing before he pierces my upper lobes with two more platinum studs and three times over in my helix on each side—all in platinum—before kissing his hand and pronouncing me perfect. "I hardly recognize you," he says before pulling me to my feet and dragging me out from behind the screen.

"Good god!" my mother shouts.

Rebecca claps her hands. "Perfect," she whispers.

Olivia raises her eyebrows. "You certainly paint a picture, Paulo."

"Amazing work!" Parker cries, shocked.

"Hell no!" Fin says, turning to Olivia and my mother. "You do realize what those men in that gang will be thinking once they see her?"

I fix Fin with a smile. "That's why you're going with me," I say, walking towards the big mirror to get a better look at myself. "Yeah, I'll be the first to say it—Raven wouldn't be a good name idea for me..." Suddenly, the perfect name for my persona comes to me, and my mother can see my mind working quickly as our eyes meet in the mirror before I turn to her and Rebecca. "How about Champagne Roxbury?" I ask them.

Rebecca smiles and nods. "Perfect," she proclaims. "I'll call the department right now and have them update the fake I.D.'s and other paperwork."

Amid everyone's conversations—Parker and my mother to Paulo and Fin and Rebecca (after the latter has gotten off the phone)—Olivia turns to me with a strange look on her face. She closes the distance between us then, looking me over more completely this time. "Champagne—quick thinking on your part, Edythe; good job."

I smile at her. "Thanks," I reply.

"Given any thoughts to any nicknames?" she asks. "These gang members aren't exactly the A-listers of society—some of them are bound to butcher such a lovely word..."

I nod. "I know."

"So, there's another meaning to it?"

I nod a second time. "Of course."

"What is it?" Olivia asks.

I turn and look at myself in the mirror. "Pain," I reply.

"Why 'pain'?" she wants to know.

I turn and look at her. "Because I'm pregnant," I say quietly.


	12. If You Leave

Chapter Twelve: If You Leave

"Who knows about this?" Olivia asks me softly. We'd gone to another room, due to Olivia wanting to give me some last-minute advice about being undercover. And now it seemed like I wouldn't be needing it. "Please tell me you told Lincoln about it, or at least your mother..."

I shake my head. "No. Nobody else knows."

Olivia shakes her head. "Do you understand how dangerous this mission is going to be?" she asks me. "We're talking about high stakes and living minute by minute, second by second, constantly on your guard for your life. One false move and you're dead, Edythe—and it's not just you now either."

I lower my eyes. "I know," I reply.

Olivia sighs. "I'm sure if I pull some strings, I can get someone else to take over for you in the mission..."

"No," I say firmly, my eyes locking on Olivia.

"Edythe, you could bring damage to your baby..."

I shake my head. "You know as well as I do that I got top of my class in combat training and psychology," I tell her. "I got the rare opportunity to look in on drug rehabilitation, AA meetings, and I even went into a psych ward for a day and lived the life of a patient. Trust me, Liv—I know how these low-life's think. I know what I'm doing."

She sighs. "Okay, fine. And I can trust Fin, I know I can. He kept your mom safe, and I know he'll do the same for you."

"Wait," I say, as she's about to walk out of the room.

"What?" she asks.

I bite my lip. "I know it's a lot to ask, but how you feel about me coming to work for you, once my assignment is over, and one I have this thing?" I ask, indicating my stomach.

Olivia looks shocked. "Really?"

I nod. "Yeah, really. I actually told my mom initially that I wanted to join SVU, but she made me promise not to."

"Well, you should respect her wishes..."

"No," I say firmly. "My life is not hers to puppet—I want to be happy in my work, Liv, and me helping special victims would make me happy. I was a special victim, and now I'm a survivor. I have all the training necessary, and I'd love to be a part of your team, if you'll have me."

Olivia looks touched. "You really mean it?"

I grin. "Promise," I reply.

She nods. "Okay."

"Okay?" I ask. " _You_ really mean it?"

"I do," she replies. "Let's just get you safely through this undercover assignment quickly, get you out of maternity clothes, and then I'll get the necessary paperwork together for your transfer."

I put out my hand. "Thank you, captain," I say.

Olivia takes my hand and shakes it. "Back at you, detective."

My time undercover lasted for around six and a half weeks, by which time I knew I had to complete the investigation. My cover wasn't at risk for being blown, but I'd be showing any day and I know it would look suspicious if I was pregnant and using. Not to the people in the gang, mind you, but to the outside world, which I saw on a regular basis.

Once the bust happened—after Fin signaled everyone—Parker, Fin, and I were ushered out of the crack den. I was relieved to see my mother, waiting by the police car, and she threw her arms around me. Because of protocol, I was only permitted to see her and Olivia, who assured me that she would be taking my statement later. I was then taken to the hospital, where I would be looked over for the injuries I'd sustained whilst undercover.

I remembered when I'd spoken out of turn after being there a few days, I'd gotten my head bashed in with a beer bottle. It had been tender for a while, but I refused any pain killers for it, not wanting to hurt my baby. Finally, I was taken to a seedy clinic and stitched up, and thankfully, I didn't experience severe blood loss or any kind of infection. That had been the most punishment I'd received while under, and I was not prepared for another assignment any time soon.

At the hospital, I felt my heart leap when I saw Lincoln; after my conversation with Olivia, I'd managed give him a call before I went under, so he hadn't seen my transformation—for lack of a better word. "Lincoln!" I cry out when I see him, and reach out for him, starved for him since I'd gone.

"Do I know you?" he asks.

"For god's sake Lincoln—it's your wife!" my mother said, impatiently.

"Are you serious?!" he demands, looking me over. "What in the hell did that stylist do to you?!"

I roll my eyes as I am put into an exam room, and he cautiously steps over the threshold to stand at my side. "Wow, I missed you, too," I say as a nurse comes in to take my blood pressure.

"105/70," the woman says, nodding. "Good here," she says, and takes my temperature and goes over some other things before leaving us.

"I'll go call your father," my mother says, kissing me on the cheek before leaving the room.

I remembered, after speaking to Olivia and my quick call to Lincoln, that Olivia had told me to tell her about the pregnancy. Upset that Lincoln had now been demoted to third person to know—then fourth after I told Fin, and fifth after Parker figured it out—I knew she wasn't very happy. And I'd managed to convince Olivia to tell her about my intended transfer, so that was another reason for her not to be very happy with me.

"Don't worry about a thing—I'm meeting with the stylist soon to get everything changed back," I say, having already managed to take out most of the piercings on the car ride over, and hoping that the holes close up quickly. "I know it's kind of a trip, but trust me, it'll be fine," I say, putting my hand to my head and feeling the stitches, feeling utterly like Frankenstein.

"What's that?" he asks, moving my fingers and looking through them. "What are you doing?"

I sigh. "Some jerk smashed a bottle on my head," I say, and I find how weird it is not talking in some unattractive, uneducated New York accent. "Cut pretty deep, but I refused pain killers because..."

"Hello, Detective Beckett," says my doctor as he breezes into the room. "Let's get a good look at your vitals—we wouldn't want any further complications coming on here, now would we?" he says, immediately snapping on a pair of gloves and bustling over to inspect my stitches. "Good—these are healing nicely. I could actually take them out today, if you like."

I nod. "Might as well... Will the hair grow back?" I ask.

He smiles. "Oh, I should think so. You've got some back already, and I can easily work around it."

"Thanks," I say, feeling Lincoln's shocked and uncomfortable presence next to me as I force myself to make small talk with him. Once the stitches are cleared up—all the while me wincing in pain and gripping onto Lincoln's willing hand—I'm able to sit somewhat normally again. "Thank you," I say quietly.

"You're welcome, detective," he replies. "Now, I'll just send our OBG-YN in to make sure that everything is developing normally, and then you two can be on your way," he says before slipping out of the room.

Lincoln's eyes immediately snap to mine, while I, meanwhile, have turned beet red at the doctor's statement. "Why is a pregnancy doctor coming to see us, after you've been gone for six weeks?" he asks.

Immediately, the redness turns from embarrassment to anger. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" I demand. "Just because I didn't tell you that I was pregnant with our baby _before_ I went undercover, you automatically think that it's not yours?" I cry out.

Lincoln runs his hands through his hair. "You're right; that was out of line. I'm sorry I said that."

I roll my shoulders. "You'd better be," I mutter.

"Well, why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" he asks.

I sigh. "I tried to—but all you wanted to do was talk about how much work you had to do, and then you hit me up for sex... And you're the one who said in Italy that you didn't want a family yet, so this is bad timing all around..."

"What does that mean?"

I turn and look at him. "I did a lot of thinking before and after going undercover, Lincoln, and I want to adopt Leia."

He smiles, clearly touched. "So do I," he replies. "I did a lot of thinking about all this and I want to adopt her, too. But..."

"But what?" I ask.

He sighs. "We need to get her a nanny, because I decided that I'm tired of taking cases that clients settle. I want to go to the courtroom—I miss it, and with Barba announcing that he's retiring..."

I raise my eyebrows. "Are you saying what I think you are?"

He nods. "Yes. I want to apply to be the new DA for Manhattan."

I take his hands. "Well, I should probably tell you that I've decided to transfer out of Homicide."

"And do what?"

I smile at him. "I want to be a detective for SVU," I reply as the OBG-YN comes into the room. "Hello, Dr. Caulfield," I say, smiling at her.

"Hello Detective Beckett, Mr. Beckett," she says to us, an associate entering the room behind her with an ultrasound machine. "Just plug it in back there on the wall, Frieda," she says, and the woman does. "Thank you," she says, and Frieda slips out of the room while Dr. Caulfield types in some information, before squirting some goo onto the wand and turning to me. "Ready to figure some things out?" she asks.

I nod, lifting my shirt. "I am," I reply, taking Lincoln's hand.

"We're ready," he says.

I return to the squad room the following Monday to get my hair fixed by Paulo. As I entered his office, he smiled and waved to me, noting that I'd kept the piercings on my upper lobes intact, but had done away with the rest. "I was wondering if you could change my hair back to its original color," I say.

"Want me to take out the extensions?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. I like it long—I've gotten used to it."

He smiles. "Sit right down, then," he says. After around an hour, Paulo has most successfully reverted me back to a brunette, and I feel much better in that frame of mind as I thank him and leave the room.

Returning to the squad room, I'm immediately ambushed by Noelle who insists upon seeing me alone. We walk into one of our interrogation rooms and I perch on the edge of the table, waiting for her to speak. When she doesn't, I ask, "Is anything going on...?"

She sighs. "Well, you didn't tell me that you were expecting," she says with a smile and takes my hands. "I'm so excited for you!"

I smile at her. "Thank you. Lincoln and I just found out what we were having last Friday, so we've begun decorating the nursery this weekend."

"Are you telling people yet?" she asks.

I nod. "We are, but I think my mom should know first."

Noelle sighs, but nods. "Of course, I understand..." She hesitates, before allowing herself to speak again. "So... When were you planning on telling me that you're leaving Homicide?"

I sigh and shake my head. "I'm sorry—I know I probably should've mentioned it. I suppose my mom told you?"

"Yes, she told me on Thursday before we all left," she replies. "We had no idea when this all would end, but Fin was able to send a signal to Captain Benson about your progress..." She sighs. "Are the rumors true?"

I shake my head. "Rumors? What rumors?"

She bites her lip, obviously unsure, but knowing that honesty is the best policy nine times out of ten. "They're saying that you were having an affair with Duke Hughes, the main gang member, during your time undercover."

I sigh. "It wasn't me—it was Champagne Roxbury," I reply. "And besides—it was work, it didn't mean anything."

"Does Captain Lyons know?" Noelle asks.

"Yes, and Captain Benson, and my mother," I reply. "When I made detective, I explained to Lincoln that there was a possibility that I would be going on some undercover assignments, and I also explained all that it entailed. I just never thought that it would happen to me. Not the undercover assignment part—the fact that a gang member would pick me..."

"What did you do?" she asks, quietly.

I turn and look at her. "What?"

"Did you and Duke Hughes...?"

I bite my lip. "Yeah, I had to—rather, Champagne Roxbury had to. You don't say no to a gang member, especially the leading one, when there's a gun to your head the whole time."

"Has Duke been charged with it?" she asks. "Has Duke been charged with raping you during your time undercover?"

I nod. "Yeah, Olivia gave me a call that they booked him this morning. Of course, he denied it, but the sample they found inside me changed things."

"Does Lincoln know?" she asks. "About...?"

I nod. "Yeah, he knows—about all of it. He knows that it was out of my control, and that I was just doing my job."

"I thought you and Parker were...?"

I sigh. "Yeah, I had to... Do all that with him, too. It's becomes a complicated thing in this line of work, to play a part where you have to do illegal things and have meaningless sex. That's something I wrote a paper on while at the academy—how to dissociate yourself from who you really are, versus who you're trying to be when you're doing your job."

There is a knock on the door then, and my mother opens it, stepping halfway in with a tight smile. "Noelle, I put another cold case on your desk."

She squeezes my hand. "Thank you, captain," Noelle says, taking a hint and leaving me alone with her.

"Hi," I say quietly.

"I need to see you in my office," she replies, walking out and leaving the door open for me to follow.

I make my way back through the squad room and towards my mother's office, and shut the door behind me. "Everything okay? Is Dad okay? Are the kids doing okay with everything?"

"Well, we had to explain to all of them about being undercover while you were gone," my mother replies. "They always wanted to see you, but Lincoln and Leia sufficed for a few weeks."

I bite my lip, lowering myself in the provided chair. "We applied to adopt her on Friday," I say softly.

"That's wonderful," my mother says shortly.

I sigh. "We also had the ultrasound appointment on Friday, and I wanted to tell you that we found out the sex of the baby."

"Well?"

"It's a girl," I reply. "You're getting a second granddaughter."

She smiles tightly at that. "Well, I'm sure it'll be a wonderful experience for you, Edythe—motherhood. All the while from the SVU squad building."

 _Here we go_ , I think to myself, _off to the races_. "Mom, what do you want me to do?" I ask her.

"Stay here," she replies, selfishly.

I shake my head. "I can't do that," I reply. "I have to go out and find something that means something to me. I'm in the right spot, just in the wrong line of work, I've found. I love you, you know that, Mom, but I have to spread my wings a little bit. You know as well as I do that I wanted to work with SVU, but you told me I couldn't. I'm in my twenties, I'm married, I've got my own house, a soon-to-be daughter, and a baby on the way. I'm not dependent on you anymore, and I never should've been once I reached adulthood. I have to start making my own choices in my life, and by joining Homicide, I let you make a very important one for me. I care about you, Mom, and your opinion matters to me, but I shouldn't have let you influence my choice of work."

She sighs. "Well, it doesn't matter."

"What?"

"I got your transfer forms in last week, and I signed off on my approval," she tells me, her tone cold. "I sent them directly to Olivia, who signed them herself, before your father got them over at IAB. He said that he got them on Friday last, and now the commissioner is looking over them as we speak." Just then, her phone rings and she moves to pick it up. "Captain Grayson," she says into the phone. "Oh, yes, I see. Yes, she is. Yes, I understand. Thank you very much." Hanging up, she gives me a smile. "The commissioner has just signed off on your transfer paperwork as of this morning and filed it himself. So, it's official," she says, getting to her feet and putting out her hand. "You are no longer a Manhattan Homicide detective, you are a Manhattan Special Victim's Unit detective."

I take her hand and shake it, albeit hesitantly. "So, what does that mean?" I ask her, feeling more confused than I'd ever been.

"It means you can pack your desk effective immediately," she replies, getting back to her chair and going over some files on her desk. "Call Jensen and have him take you on over to SVU once you've finished—Olivia is expecting you."

Once my desk had been packed and I said goodbye to Noelle and everyone else in the squad room, I went downstairs holding my box and getting outside. It was a crisp mid-October day, and it felt like snow would come in time for Christmas. I loaded my things into Jensen's car before telling him to take me across town to the SVU squad room, where it would all begin.

Getting out of the car, my box in tow, I'm surprised to see Fin coming out of the main doors and grinning at the sight of me. "Good to see you, Edythe," he says, hugging me before taking my box. "Come on—we're all inside waiting for you, new recruit."

We head upstairs, making our way inside, and I find I am hesitating in the hallway, an unknown force is keeping me rooted to the spot. I turn to Fin, who looks a bit shocked, more than likely at the expression on my face. "Sorry," I say quickly to him, putting on a smile.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Should be fine," I reply.

"Not the baby, is it?"

I shake my head. "No. Nothing like that."

"Sure?"

I nod. "Positive."

"Need a minute?" he asks.

I sigh. "Actually, yeah. If you don't mind."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I'll put this over on your desk and tell Liv and the guys you're taking a minute. I don't think it'll matter," he says, shooting me a smile before going into the squad room and setting down my things on what I think will be my new desk.

Looking at this hallway, I place my hand on the paneling, thinking back to when there were different detectives that roamed these halls. I wondered if any of them harbored any secrets. Something told me that secrets were a necessity in this line of work, I thought as I rounded the corner and went into the squad room.

MAGGIE'S POV

Being close to Olivia, even before she knew for sure, wasn't the only reason why I didn't want Edythe to work at SVU. No; no, it ran deeper than that, and it was something I hadn't discussed in years: My feelings for Elliot. Despite what the public would believe, while I was separated from Hunter, there were several occasions when I saw Elliot out with Kathy and their kids, and I considered telling him about the separation. Despite the notion that Elliot had told me that he wanted to try to make things work with Kathy, it hurt me and angered me that I was still hung up on him.

I remembered the final turning point in it all, when things had changed in the blink of an eye, almost as if it was yesterday...

"Who we got here?" I ask.

"Jason Milo, Lieutenant," Nate tells me.

"Caught this one selling a gun to a minor," Fairfax tells me.

"Get him into a room," I say, nodding for Sorenson to haul him in—hey, she's stronger than she looks—so as Nate can talk to me. "What do we got? No holding back, now, you hear, Nate?"

"Just said that he sold it to a Jenna Fox..." Nate said, shaking his head.

At once, my blood ran cold—call it women's intuition; to this day, I'll never understand it. "That's SVU's latest case... Why...?" At once, I secure my gun to the belt at my waist, telling Nate to, "Watch the squad!" as I haul ass out of there. I run downstairs and bolt out the front doors, climbing into a cab and begging the man, almost breathlessly, to take me to the SVU squad room. We tear across town and city blocks and I throw some cash his way and dash up the front steps of the SVU building, up the stairs and in the direction of the squad room, where I see things looking normal, until all hell breaks loose.

"Jenna, no!" I hear Olivia scream.

I feel myself propelling towards the fray—I don't want anyone else to be hurt. As the bullets rain down, I crouch—I haven't been seen yet.

"Put the gun down, Jenna," he urges her.

Peering next to me, I can see Olivia bent over Sister Peg, a woman who has helped them with many cases. She's bleeding pretty bad, and Olivia looks shocked standing over her.

"Just put the gun down," Elliot tries again.

Jenna proceeds to lower it, when low-life Eddie Skinner decides to open his ugly mouth one more time.

"I should've killed you with your mother!" he yells.

Jenna, clearly traumatized, raises the gun again and shoots Skinner, point-blank, and Elliot raises his gun, and it fires, but no bullet comes. Taking my chance, I fire the gun myself, and Jenna goes down. Due to the trajectory, one could make the case for Elliot shooting Jenna himself.

"No!" Olivia screams as both of their bodies go down.

I am up the moment she shoots Skinner; what I don't realize is that due to the force of her shot, the bullet has gone through him, hit the wall, gone out from between the cell door and hit me. My knees buckle as Elliot rushes to Jenna's side, cradling her as she bleeds out, telling him that getting the gun was easy. Elliot then turns to look at Olivia as the survivors attempt to understand what went on as Jenna dies in Elliot's arms.

Lowering my eyes, I can see the blood leaking from between my fingers, and I feel as if I am floating. I fall backwards then, and it is my hair which gives me away, pluming out around my head like a flag. I turn and look at everyone around me, and vow that I will not die—not today. I breathe in, loudly, so as someone's attention will be given to me...

"No!" Elliot screams then, and nearly drops Jenna, rushing over to my side and taking me into his arms. "Maggie... Maggie, no..."

"Maggie?!" Olivia cries in disbelief, setting down the body of Sister Peg more gently and swoops in. "Maggie..."

I force myself to move my hands upwards to attempt to stop the bleeding, which proves difficult. "Elliot," I find myself whispering.

Olivia then gets on her walkie to report the shooting, leaving me and Elliot relatively alone. "SVU to Central, I need a bus immediately. 10-13, we have an officer down. I repeat—we have an officer down! This is Detective Olivia Benson, Badge Number 4015. The officer in question is Lieutenant Margaret Grayson of Manhattan Homicide..."

"Maggie, why are you here? You shouldn't have been here," Elliot says, the tears coming out of his eyes very real.

"We caught your guy—the guy who sold Jenna the gun," I whisper, my breaths quick and raspy. "Coughed up a name to my sergeant—said he sold the gun to Jenna on the street... We got him, Elliot..."

"Yes, but why are you...?"

"I knew she'd come here," I reply. "Can't... Can't explain it, really..." I shrug a little. "I just know that if someone ever killed my mother..."

"I thought you didn't get along with your mother..."

I laugh a little at that. "Not really, no. Realistically speaking, though, she is my mother, and I know I'd do something drastic... She wasn't in her right mind, Elliot..."

"Was I?"

"What?"

"Was I in my right mind when I pulled the trigger?"

I smile at him—my first genuine smile at him since forever. "You were doing your job," I reply. "Just like you were when you decided to get back with Kathy..."

"Maggie..."

"No, listen. I've given it a lot of thought. I get it. I'm a mother now, and I've somehow managed to put everything into perspective. You put your kids first above your own happiness—I get it. I... I can do it now, Elliot. I can let you go and be a good wife and mother to Hunter and our children..."

"Maggie, don't..."

"Elliot, please, listen. Take to heart that one part of me will always love you, and that you were my first love... That's why, I did it..."

"What?" he asks, confused.

I raise my eyes to his. "You'll find gun residue on my hands," I whisper.

"Maggie, what are you...?"

"I shot Jenna Fox. I killed Jenna Fox," I whisper to him. "As soon as I recover, I'll tell them everything," I whisper, smiling up at him. I caress his face as the elevator doors open and a stretcher is brought out for me to be taken to Mercy General Hospital. "See you on the other side," I whisper as I'm hauled up upon it and am taken away from the SVU squad room.

"Captain? You all right?"

I raise my eyes to the person standing in my doorway. "Nate, please—you're pretty much my closest friend. You don't have to call me captain even though I am your boss."

He laughs. "Sorry—impulse." He crosses the threshold and sits in one of the chairs opposite me. "Saw Edythe leave. Things okay with you two?"

I shake my head. "Nate, I've no idea."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, if I'm honest, I think I was just a world-class bitch to her, in not so many words," I reply.

"What makes you say that?"

I sigh. "Well, I pretty much advanced her paperwork through to the department and got the transfer approved officially."

"Which means?"

"Which means we need to get another detective in her to be Noelle's partner," I tell him. "Edythe is now officially an SVU detective now."

"And how are you feeling about that?"

"Not good."

"Because of how you acted?"

"Mostly," I reply. "But it's also because of everything that ever happened to me in this business leads back to there. I was just thinking about Jenna Fox's shooting and that stirred up a whole bunch of feelings..."

"Which brings up the follow-up question..."

My eyes lock with his. "What?"

"Do you really think you're through with your feelings for Elliot Stabler?"

EDYTHE'S POV

I am formerly welcomed to the squad with open arms, and Olivia says that since my doctor has signed off on everything as well, she won't sequester me into desk duty until the end of my second trimester, at least, or when I want to do desk duty instead of street work. I am not assigned a partner, and I don't mind that fact, as Olivia tells me that we're constantly switching around.

"I hope you realize that most detectives are junior detectives when they start out here, but I'm making an exception for you," she tells me in our very first sit-down meeting together.

I blink. "Excuse me?" I ask.

She smiles. "It's not because of nepotism or anything like that, Edythe. It has to do with the fact that you're so good at your job—so good, in fact, that you seem like a veteran at this job."

I shrug. "Comes from the territory, I guess. And my extensive research. I'm just ready to help people, Captain."

She shakes her head. "No need for that. 'Olivia' or 'Liv' is fine, except in very professional situations."

I nod. "Understood, Liv," I reply.

"Well, get back to your desk. If anyone calls, you know the drill."

I smile at her. "You're right, Liv," I say, saluting her.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she says, handing a box over to me. "This is for you, of course—hope you like it."

Opening the box, there is a golden badge inside, with the words CITY OF NEW YORK POLICE DETECTIVE along with my number, 4712 on the bottom. "So, it's official, then?" I ask, turning it over, the words MANHATTAN SPECIAL VICTIM'S UNIT on the back.

"Signed, sealed, and delivered," she replies.

I smile, taking off my Homicide badge and clipping the SVU badge in its place, directly next to my gun. "Okay. I'll head to my desk and wait for a call."

"There's some preliminary research on a case for you on your desk in the meantime," she tells me as I start to leave.

"Thanks, Liv," I reply, leaving her office and walking over to my new desk, the words DETECTIVE BECKETT engraved on a new golden nameplate. I look over the case of a serial rapist for over an hour, when my phone rings. Immediately, I pick it up and answer, "Detective Beckett."

"Hello, detective, this is Marica Channing over at Manhattan ACS," says the woman on the phone.

"Hello, Ms. Channing," I reply, getting out a notepad and a pen. "Is everything all right?"

"No, actually," she replies. "We've got ourselves a pretty revolting case on our hands, if I do say so myself."

"Of course," I say, poised and waiting, having only written down her name. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Social Services was contacted this morning when a rather upsetting situation was brought to their attention," Marcia Channing replies.

"Oh, dear," I reply. "Go on."

"Two young parents—in their mid-twenties—were arrested when it was exposed that their twins were living in squalor, among other things. I'm afraid it's far too upsetting to give you all the details..."

"Ms. Channing, I understand that you must feel upset and disgusted, but I need more to go on here..."

She sighs. "I'm acting as their guardian now in the hospital—for the twins," she explains, and I take it to mean that the twins are one of each.

"What are their names?" I ask.

"Abbey and Andy," she replies, and spells out their names so as I am doubly sure that I'm spelling them right. "Abigail and Andrew Ford."

"How old are they?" I inquire.

"They're almost four," Marcia replies. "Right," I say. "Thank you... All right," I reply, wanting to get this difficult information process over with so as I could potentially get there and help these poor, innocent children. "Where are they now? Have they been placed in foster care, or are they still in the hospital?"

"They're in the hospital," Marcia Channing replies.

"Which hospital?" I ask, quickly writing everything down.

"Mercy Hospital," Marica Channing tells me. "And, you should know, that the twins are severely malnourished and that, combined, they weigh less than twenty pounds."

Immediately, I felt sick. "All right," I reply. "Thank you."

"See you soon, I hope," she says softly.

"Hopefully, yes—I'll get the information to my captain," I reply.

"Thank you," she replies, and hangs up.

Immediately, I get to my feet, taking my notes with me and heading directly to Olivia's office, tapping on the door. "Got a minute?" I ask, just as she finishes a telephone call.

"Sure, come on in," she says. "Ah, armed with the notepad, I see. Did you just get a case?"

I nod. "Yeah, my first one, if I can have it."

Olivia nods. "You picked up the phone," she says. "Okay, tell me."

I quickly give her the details, finishing with them being severely malnourished and that they're at Mercy Hospital. "As you can see, it's quite a desperate case, and I would like to be a detective on it," I finish quickly.

Olivia nods. "Okay," she says, following me into the squad room to gather my things. "Fin!" she calls, and beckons him over. "Edythe got a bite on a new case—twins, severely malnourished, over at Mercy Hospital. ACS has them now, but I want you in on this one, too."

"No problem," Fin says, getting his coat and typical beanie hat. "Ready for your first day on the job?" he asks as we book it downstairs and head outside.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply. We get to the hospital quickly, making our way into the reception area, where I immediately head up to the desk. "Detective Beckett," I say, flashing my badge. "We received a call from a Marcia Channing of ACS on behalf of Abigail and Andrew Ford."

"Room 171," the receptionist replies, and Fin and I thank her quickly before making our way down the hall.

"Wait," I say, before we've even begun.

"What?" Fin asks.

I move slightly, going into the gift shop and smiling at the elderly woman behind the counter. I pick two different teddy bears, one pink and one brown, and pay for them before stepping out. "Sorry," I say to Fin.

He rolls his eyes. "Hey, I'm not judging."

"Thanks," I reply as we reach the end of the hall. "Marcia?" I ask a woman sitting there, and step forward.

"Yes?" the woman asks, noting the bears I'm holding in my arms. She is about forty, a bit heavy, and has dark brown hair and clear, opal-colored eyes. "Detective Beckett?"

"She is," Fin says, holding up his own badge. "And I'm her partner, Detective Tutuola. Can you tell us about the Ford kids?"

She sighs. "Yes, of course. You've relayed the case to him?" she asks me.

I nod. "Affirmative," I reply.

"Well, the twins were found to have fecal matter in their ears," Marica says, clearly disgusted with the situation.

"Jeez," Fin says under his breath.

"And... Detective Tutuola, this is a bit controversial..."

"It's fine," Fin says. "What?"

Marcia purses her lips at the prospect of telling us what could turn out to be a crucial piece of information. "Abigail Ford was so far gone that she was found with... Maggots in her genitalia," she says softly.

Immediately, I felt sick. "You're joking, right?" I say before I can stop myself from saying it.

Marica looks at me like I have four heads. "Detective Beckett, who would joke about something like that?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Hopefully no one," I reply, taking out my notepad again and writing everything down. "Okay... May we see them now?"

Marica moves aside so that she's no longer blocking our entrance. "Go right on in," she replies. "Detectives?" she says before we open the door, and we stop, turning back to look at her. "Promise me you'll bring down these son of a bitch parents for hurting them."

Fin turns to me. "Edythe, why don't you go see the kids?" he asks. "I'll see if I can get some information about Mr. and Mrs. Ford."

I nod. "No problem," I reply, opening the door and stepping inside. I approach the small beds that the children are in and move to sit beside them. "Hi, guys," I say, smiling at both of them in turn. "I brought a couple of friends for you, if you would like to meet them."

Abbey sits up in her bed, her eyes on the pink bear. "I like your bear," she says softly.

I smile. "Actually, it's for you," I reply, as Andy sits up in his bed.

"Is that one for me?" he asks.

"It is," I reply, putting each of their bears in bed beside them. "They can keep you company when it's time for sleepy time."

"Thank you," they say in unison.

"You're welcome," I reply, doing my best not to cry openly at how malnourished the two of them really look. "So, I know you're Abbey and you're Andy," I say to them both. "My name is Edythe."

"Hi," Abbey says.

"What's that?" Andy says, catching a look at my badge.

Immediately, I take it off and hand it to him. "This is my badge, letting people know that I'm a police officer, and that I help people."

"Are you going to help us?" Abbey asks.

I nod. "I am," I say, smiling at Andy as he hands my badge back to me. "It would be really great if you could tell me about your house."

"Our house?" Andy asks.

I nod. "Yes—like I said, I'm here to help you."

Abbey nods. "Okay."

I take out my notepad again. "Did you like living there?"

Andy shrugs. "Eh," he replies.

"Were you and your mommy and daddy the only people who lived there?" I ask the pair of them.

"No—our daddy's sister lived there, and our grandma and grandpa," Abbey tells me quickly.

I nod. "Oh—big family," I put in. "What would you like to do?"

"Nothing," Andy replies, sullen. "They made us sit in the dark and be quiet. If we were good, we could have French fries."

"Are French fries your favorite food?" I ask.

Abbey sighs. "No," she says. "It's the only thing we're allowed to eat—Mommy says we're bad and that we can only have those."

I bite my tongue, knowing that I'd love to give their mother a tongue lashing for saying such a thing as Fin comes in. I nod to Fin to keep Andy occupied while I go and sit beside Abbey on her bed. "Abbey, I have to ask you something."

"Okay," she says.

I look over her body—other than being malnourished, there were many bruises along her arms, neck, and face. "Can you tell me what happened?" I ask, pointing to them.

She sighs. "When I'm bad, I get a pop," she replies.

"A 'pop'?" I asked.

"Yeah—like this," Abbey says, punching her bed as hard as she can.

I sigh. "That must not feel good."

She shakes her head. "It doesn't."

I nod. "Of course not." I hesitate then, wanting to approach the next line of questioning delicately, not wanting to frighten her completely. "Who does it the most?" I ask. "The popping? Can you tell me?"

She sighs. "They said it was a secret," she whispers.

"It's okay—remember how I said I was here to help people?" I ask.

She nods. "Okay... My uncle, Freddie," she replies.

"Freddie?" I ask. "Does he live with you?"

"Now he does—I forgot. He just married my daddy's sister, Tracey. He came to live with us two months ago."

I nod. "Okay. Does Freddie do anything else?"

"He told me that down here," she says, pointing in between her legs, "is a bad place to touch. When I'm allowed to shower, he whispers for me to hold my legs closed and to not let anything in, except for him."

"Him?" I ask.

She nods. "He puts things inside me..."

I feel my heart breaking for this little girl. "Okay. What things?"

She looks up at me for the first time, and her blue eyes are filled with tears. "He puts meat inside me," she whispers. "Even when after a few days it hurts, he makes me keep my legs closed. I stand that way for hours..."

Turning to Fin, I see that he heard the whole thing—Abbey's declaration. He nods at me, and I turn back to Abbey. "You've done well," I tell her. I check my watch then, and it is around three p.m. "I'm sure you'd like a nap now," I say, getting to my feet and straightening her blanket.

"Edythe!" she says, grabbing my arm.

"Yes, Abbey?"

She sighs, obviously concerned. "Will you come and see me again?" she asks me, fearful. "I don't have many friends..."

I blink then, and wonder if I could bring Leia or Livi to come to see her and to be her friend. "I'll try," I reply and, seeing that Fin has finished writing down some of Andy's information, leave before I begin to sob openly.


	13. Point Blank

Chapter Thirteen: Point Blank

As soon as we've finished questioning the kids, Fin considerately offers to drive us back to the squad room so as we can report our findings to Olivia. I've managed to keep myself from crying, and instead find myself going numb—I knew I could do this, but I was understandably very shaken at all the information I'd been given. As Fin and I drove across town, I was thankful that he didn't push conversation, and I merely reminded him of my assigned parking space in the parking garage before he parked my car and we headed upstairs.

Olivia sees how shaken I am, but Fin assures her that my line of questioning was perfect as we head into the office. "Tell me what you know," she says, addressing neither of us in particular.

Immediately, I whip out my notes, ever the professional. "They're great kids," I begin, wanting to get the basics out of the way. "Both kids are above average intelligence, so their education wasn't lacking—that, or they have some decent reading material lying around," I say quietly.

"Carisi and Rollins are at the house now," Olivia reports. "From the text I got, there's a lot to sift through. I'll be sending you there as soon as you've finished with your preliminary report on the kids," Olivia says, addressing Fin, and I wonder if I've said or done the wrong thing, before she turns to me. "I have an interview with the parents and other relatives over at Sing Sing later this afternoon, and I want you there with me, Edythe."

I nod. "You got it, captain," I reply.

"I mainly spoke to Andy, the male twin," Fin tells Olivia. "He told me that he hates French fries—what kids does?"

Olivia gives Fin a shocked expression at that. "Hates French fries? That's really unusual," she puts in. "There was a time when French fries were all Noah would eat..."

"I detected signs of mental and physical abuse—poor kid was covered in bruises from what I saw, and Mercy Hospital is going to send us a report on it either later today or tomorrow," Fin reports. "If there's sexual abuse, he didn't verbally admit to it, but his body language when I asked him said otherwise."

"Well, you know I don't need to tell you that men and boys are less prone to admit something like that," Olivia says softly, before turning back to me. "You took some kinds of psychology classes, Edythe—can you tell me why men and boys are less likely to admit that they were sexually abused?"

 _Teaching moment_ , I think to myself. "Because they see themselves as less of what they are," I reply. "Men, most of them anyway, are conditioned to think that they are all-powerful. As such, when all their power is stripped away from them in those moments—whether they be fleeting or long-lasting—all they can really see is that they aren't who they claim to be. They won't admit to it, usually, because they are ashamed; and then there is that fear that whoever could hurt them before could hurt them again, either by committing the same heinous act or by informing others of their supposed prowess against them."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Fin puts in. He finishes telling Olivia about his interview with Andy, and, from what he tells us, Andy wasn't spared the sexual abuse either. Without a direct statement, however, we could not bring up charges for him for sexual abuse; we would have to wait for a statement or physical evidence to prove anything.

"You go meet Carisi and Rollins at the house," Olivia says. "Give Carisi the call—he knows the area."

"Can do, Liv," Fin says, heading out of her office.

"We're due at Sing Sing in an hour, so we should head over there now," Olivia says a moment later, and we head out together. We get into her car and make our way up the highway, leaving Manhattan and arriving in Ossining within the hour, just on time. "We're going to sit with them separately," she explains as we leave the highway and get closer to the prison. "As in, the family members, not you and I," she says. "Not that I don't trust you..."

"You just like to be hands-on," I reply. "I get that. Must be a family trait," I joke, and she rewards me with a smirk.

"Just as bad as your mother was," she says.

"You asked me what my favorite color was," I say quietly.

Olivia makes a turn and we continue driving through the village of Ossining and towards the correctional facility. "What?" she asks.

"That day—the day I met you, Mom, and Stabler," I reply. "Stabler and Mom walked off while she gave him a preliminary report, and I remember not being initially trust of you—or of anyone, really."

"Your mother's boyfriend put you through hell," Olivia says. "I'd hardly expect you to act any other way."

"You're the only one who knows the long and the short of it—for me, at least," I say softly. "I've come close to telling Mom so many times, but I never got around to it."

Olivia sighs. "Is that why you got the ink?"

"This?" I ask, gently running my hand along the back of my neck, where the Latin words were still etched into my skin. "Yeah, probably."

Olivia makes another turn. "I've heard of branding, Edythe, but Jake took it to the extreme," she tells me quietly. "Marking me as his personal property, I guess," I mutter. "I was barely five when it all began... Oh, well," I say, quickly dashing the tears from my eyes as we get up to the gate, and quickly manage to get my badge ready. "Duty calls, right?" I say, straightening in my seat and producing my badge when told to do so.

As we drive through the gate, Olivia says softly, "I just want you to know that even if you weren't my granddaughter, Edythe, I'd still be there for you. Your family means a lot to me, and I'll always be here to talk."

I smile at that. "Thanks," I reply. "Hey, I just wanted to say something... It's just that something's been bothering me..."

"Shoot," Olivia says, still trying to find a parking space.

"Pontiac," I whisper, something that my mother would use to find one on the busy streets of New York. "Do you ever think that circumstances that affected our parents or someone close to us could also in turn affect us, even if we had no prior knowledge of said experience?" I want to know.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when Fin came and walked me into the squad this morning..." I shake my head at her. "I don't know—he told you I needed a minute in the hallway before I came in?"

"Yeah, but that's understandable," she replied. "A new division of NYPD, and you're our youngest detective in a while..." She shifts her eyes to mine. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-five," I reply. "But it was more than that, Olivia."

"What's more?"

I turn and look directly at her, not wanting to miss a potential lie before it fell out of her mouth. "Did something happen in the hallway outside the squad, something that involved my mother?"

Olivia immediately grows ridged, and I wonder then if she will hide something from me as she finds a parking space. "Yes," she says softly.

"Tell me."

"You guys ever discuss Jenna Fox at the academy?" she asks, parking.

I nod. "Of course—Mom's department caught the guy that stole a gun. Why? Did something else happen?"

"Your mother left Homicide and came over to SVU. That's back when Elliot and I were still partners, and Don had my job..."

"What happened?"

"Jenna had her gun, bought off the street, and pointed it in the squad room," she says softly, gathering her things. "Elliot shot, and he got her. She died in his arms and that's when we realized your mother had been hit..."

"Oh, my god," I say as we get out of her car.

Olivia sighs. "You'll have to ask her for the rest of it... The two of them had a conversation, and I was so busy getting a bus for her that I didn't really manage to catch any of it."

We step inside the prison, making our was past initial security before going up to the reception area. After flashing our badges, we unclipped our guns from their respective holsters, giving them to the weapons enforcement officer before stepping through the final round of security. The warden comes out of his office then and smiles at us.

"Captain Benson, good to see you," he says, shaking Olivia's hand.

"Warden Kingston, right back at you," she says, shaking his hand. "This is my newest recruit, Detective Beckett."

"Good to meet you, Warden Kingston," I say, shaking his hand.

"You must be Edythe—Hunter and Maggie's girl," he says, smiling at me. "Good to see tradition still runs wild in families... Well," he says, turning back to Olivia efficiently. "Will you want to interview the parents, the grandmother, or the uncle first?" he asks.

"The aunt wasn't arrested?" I ask.

"No, she's been kept under house arrest in an apartment in her name," Warden Kingston replies. "It's been determined that she and her husband were separated at the time of the arrest, and your captain has sent some of her detectives to the apartment for questioning."

"Rollins is on it," Olivia assures me.

"Woman-to-woman," I muse softly as Warden Kingston tells us that he will show us to the visitors room.

"We'll interview Mr. and Mrs. Ford first," Olivia states.

"I'll send a guard to collect them immediately," he replies as he lets us into the visitors room. "Make yourselves at home, but remember—no speaking to other prisoners."

"Understood," I say, making my way in after Olivia and sitting next to her on the provided bench. I peek around at the other inmates, shaking my head.

"Memories?" Olivia asks, casually.

I shake my head. "No, not really." I shake my head then, lowering my eyes to the chrome surface of the table. "I realize I never apologized to you properly..."

"Apologized?" she asks. "For what?"

"When you arrested me on the night of my fifteenth birthday party," I reply, "when I was in that hotel room with Ryder. My mom had you arrest me—I called you every name in the book from the time the elevator doors closed until you hauled me into juvi..."

Olivia chuckles. "Had I been in your shoes, I would've probably given the arresting officer the same treatment."

I turn and look at her. "You wouldn't have been as thoughtless as I was, Liv," I tell her, shaking my head. "I was a drug addict for years before anybody caught on. I was able to get a handle on all the alcohol, but I didn't touch it from the moment I realized this little girl was in here," I say softly, my hand coming to rest on my belly, swollen ever so slightly. "It's comforting now that I'm never alone—in a physical sense, anyway..."

Olivia raises her eyebrows. "It's a girl?" she asks.

I laugh a little then, shaking my head. "God, I'm sorry—I didn't tell you. Yes, it's a girl."

She smiles and puts an arm around me, squeezing my shoulders. "Congratulations, Edythe, really. How'd Lincoln take the news?"

"He found out around the same time—on both counts," I reply. "He was waiting at the hospital for me, of course, when I got out from being under. And then the OB-GYN was in the room and well..." I shrug. "It all happened so fast. I have to get him the preliminary sketches to him about how we want the nursery to look, and then there's Leia's adoption... But you knew about that one..."

"Yeah, your mom mentioned it," Olivia clarified. "But are you being serious right now? About the preliminary sketches, I mean?"

I scoff. "No. Our house doesn't need any work on it. Unless we flood the basement or the roof caves in, we've decided not to change anything."

A buzzer sounds a moment later on the opposite side of the doors, the prisoner side, and Warden Kingston, plus a guard, come inside with Mr. and Mrs. Ford; the former looks angered, while his wife resembles the typical mousey, obedient woman that you frequently saw in the olden times. Olivia and I get to our feet, and we realize then that we didn't discuss strategy.

"If you want me to take the father..."

"No." I put my hand on her arm. "No, I'd like to speak to him myself, if you don't mind, captain."

Olivia shakes her head. "Not at all. Mrs. Ford," she says, stepping forward, "I'm Captain Benson. Why don't we have a little chat?"

Mrs. Ford lowers her eyes. "Okay," she says meekly, and the two of them walk to the other side of the room.

I immediately put on a fake smile and approach Mr. Ford. "Ready to have a conversation with me, Mr. Ford?" I ask him.

"Who the hell are you?!" he demands, rudely, with a thick, Boston accent.

I force myself to remain smiling. "I'm Detective Beckett," I reply. "Why don't we sit down, all right?"

"Fine," Mr. Ford grumbles, and he glares at me when I have the audacity to sit after he does—clearly, he believed in a patriarchal society. "I want you to know something up-front here, detective—I ain't never laid a finger on my kids, no matter what they do."

I keep my smile frozen in place, folding my hands on the table in front of me. "I don't think we'll get anywhere if we don't start being honest."

"Listen to me," Mr. Ford growls, jabbing his thick, meaty finger in the center of the chrome tabletop, "I ain't never touched my kids!"

"I've met your kids, Mr. Ford," I reply, steadily, not allowing his tone to get to me personally.

"You met my kids?"

I nod. "Yes. They're lovely children—I think we can agree on that."

"Yeah," Mr. Ford says, crossing his arms, "they are."

"Mr. Ford, tell me—kids aren't perfect, not even yours, right?"

He immediately shakes his head. "My kids are perfect."

"Well, they must misbehave sometimes," I say. "Trust me—I work in law enforcement and even when I was young, I gave my folks a hard time. Your kids ever misbehave?"

He sighs. "Well, sure. All kids do."

"Okay," I say, relieved that we're getting somewhere. "You ever give your kids a time-out?"

"Of course—that's an acceptable way to discipline," he replies. "It gives 'em time to think about what they done."

"But they must get on your nerves sometimes?"

He shrugs. "I guess so."

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Ford?"

"I work in a factory," he replies. "I load boxes, ten hours a day, every Monday thru Friday, except holidays."

"That can't be an easy job," I say, pretending to sympathize with him.

He nods. "Yeah—sometimes, I get home from work, and the kids'll be screaming about something or other..."

"Must make you pretty annoyed," I say. "There you are, bringing home the bacon for your family, day in and day out, and there your kids are—making a fuss about some childish thing..."

Mr. Ford sighs, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah..."

"And there you are—a working stiff—who worked a ten-hour day, heading home for dinner and, hopefully, some peace and quiet. The kids are screaming, and you just lose your temper. We all lose our temper sometimes..."

His silver eyes lock with mine. "I may have hit 'em... But I always apologize—I never mean it..."

I nod at him. "Of course not," I reply. "Why would you mean it? I mean... They're covered in bruises... But you're lucky that they didn't peg you for their _other_ abuser, Mr. Ford, but we'll still have to get to the bottom of this..."

"Other abuser?!" Mr. Ford demands, looking shocked.

I nod. "Of course, but they could just be shielding you," I say, shrugging it off. "I mean, who am I to assume what you are?"

"What I am?"

I nod. "What you are."

"What am I, detective?" he asks me, slowly. "What did my kids say?"

I stare at him impassively. "Well, I'm sure you can tell me how you feel about your brother-in-law, Freddie?"

"Freddie? He's a worthless piece of crap," Mr. Ford replies. "Always begging Mandy for money..."

"Your wife?"

"Yeah," Mr. Ford says, crossing his arms. "Really got on my nerves. I wanted to kick him out, but Mandy felt sorry for the guy."

"When did Freddie's marital problems begin?" I ask him. "From what I know, Freddie was separated from his wife."

"My little sister's the sweetest angel you'd ever hope to meet," Mr. Ford said quickly, passionately. "Little Sabrina... Means the world to me. Helped raise her after our dad left."

"Abbey told me that her grandmother and grandfather lived with you," I say, not accusatory. "Was she confused?"

He shakes his head. "No—my mother got remarried when Sabrina and I were in high school," he replies. "I was a senior, she was a freshman. She skipped a few grades—was supposed to be in seventh and got moved up to ninth. I had to keep a close eye on her—boys, you know."

I nod. "Of course," I reply. "So, Abbey and Andy consider your mother's second husband their grandfather?"

He shrugs. "I guess—he's good to them."

"You're not fond of your stepfather?"

He shrugs a second time. "Hey, he doesn't beat my mother like my lowlife dad did, and he only yells a few times a month. Never lays a hand on her—if it stays that way, I'm fine with him."

I lean slightly forward in my seat, indicating to the guard that I'll be speaking softly so that Mr. Ford will trust me. "Mr. Ford—I'm sorry, I don't know your first name... Or do you prefer Mr. Ford?"

"Luke's fine," he replies.

"Luke," I reply. "Luke, do you know the department that I work for?"

"You're a detective for the NYPD."

I nod. "Well, yes, but the NYPD is divided up by city and by department—each one focusing on different things to make the work load easier."

He shrugs. "I don't know what department you work for, lady..."

"Call me Edythe," I reply, wanting him to trust me enough to sing like a bird. "So, I work for SVU, that means Special Victim's Unit."

"So, what? You handle cases where women get raped?"

I stiffen at that, but force myself to remain calm—his bluntness certainly couldn't be helpful in making friends all the time. "Sometimes we do, yes. We also work a lot with children, like your twins," I tell him levelly. "We find that there's a pattern from case to case. Can you guess what that pattern is?"

"I'm not here to play games, Edythe."

I nod. "No, of course not, Luke. Well, the pattern we find in many situations is that if there is abuse with one generation, then the following generation is more prone than otherwise to abuse people in a similar way. Other times, the abuse escalates severely, to the point where it isn't just hitting anymore."

"What are you saying?" Luke whispers.

I lock eyes with him, forcing myself to remain impassive and unafraid. "What I'm saying, Luke, is that you've admitted that your father was abusive. Did he ever hit you when you were growing up?"

His hands, shackled at the wrists, promptly form into fists. "Yeah—he'd beat me with his belt, burn me with these god-awful cigars he had. The burns healed, but some of the marks are still there." He lifts his right sleeve then, and I notice that the words _Ford Forever_ have been carved into his upper arm. "Son of a bitch gave me this the day before I went to school and told my principal. They called the cops and Sabrina and I told them everything."

"Everything?" I ask.

He sighs, tears at the back of his eyes as he pulls his sleeve back down into place and avoids eye contact with me for a moment before turning back to me. "Yeah—we had to. We told the police about him beating my mom, and about him branding me, and about Sabrina..."

"What about Sabrina?"

Luke sighs, dashing the tears out of his eyes and proceeding to bounce one of his legs up and down. "Uh, uhm... He got Sabrina pregnant when she was thirteen," he replies, looking very uncomfortable.

"Luke, do you understand why I'm asking you all this?"

"Yes," he replies. "You think I hit my kids and hurt them because of what my dad did to me—I get that." He looks at me, looking tormented. "I may have hit them harder than was needed more than once, but that's it. I apologized and did those anger management classes. I ain't done it since then, I swear. It's Freddie—he's the one you're looking for; my sweet Abbey wouldn't lie."

"How do you know it's Freddie?"

"My stepdad's my foreman at the factory," he replies. "He works at least three more hours a day than I do, and when he's home, he's watching T.V., eating, or sleeping, and he'd never touch the kids."

I sigh, knowing that the next question had to be asked. "Luke, you're not going to like me for saying this..."

"What?"

"Well, the DNA results have come up positive for semen on Abbey and Andy, and we'll need DNA samples from you, your stepfather, and Freddie."

He nods. "I'll give you whatever you want. I didn't do this."

I sigh. "Thank you," I say, reaching into my pocket and taking out the swab. "Open up, then," I say. I make quick work of swabbing his mouth, and catch Olivia's eye, along with her look of approval as I seal the vial and put it into an evidence bag. "I have to say one more thing..."

"Yeah?" Luke asks.

"There's a study which says that women are more inclined to look for qualities in a man which match that of their father," I say softly. "Do you think that Sabrina actively looked for those qualities when she met Freddie?"

It happens so fast that even I don't expect it; Luke breaks his shackles in one quick movement and launches himself across the table. His hands around my neck as we two fly backwards, landing hard on the concrete floor. The floor is cool on my back, but there is burning in my throat as he proceeds to choke me. Then, he brings my head up and down, hard, on the ground. I feel my skin becoming inflamed, and what feels like water seeping out of it as I hear shouts and the guards manage to pull Luke off me.

"Edythe!" Olivia screams, and she is at my side.

"My...fault..." I manage to get out.

She shakes her head. "It had to be said," she says.

"Get them out of here!" screams Warden Kingston as the Fords are lead out of the visitor's cell. "Come on, up you go—easy now," he says, helping me to my feet, and I curse myself for stumbling. "Can you walk, or would you like a wheelchair to get out of here?"

"I'll walk," I reply.

"I should call an ambulance..." Olivia tries.

"No." My voice is firm as a guard comes from the infirmary and gives me something to stop the bleeding. "I'm fine. I'll go to the hospital, but not like this—not like some invalid. I'm going to walk out of here, on my own."

"Edythe, you don't have to prove anything..." Olivia tries.

I lock eyes with hers. "I have to prove I'm not weak," I reply. "Just because I am a Grayson, doesn't mean that I am merely their daughter. I'll make a name for myself in my own way—I won't ride on their name or their accomplishments forever." I smile at her, forcing my legs to hold me up despite the weakness that I feel, and the blood beginning to seep through the cloth I hold to my head. "I'll pay for any blood I get on your car, Liv, but we need to get this DNA sample to the lab immediately."

"Edythe..."

"No." I shake my head. "I am going to walk out of here without assistance and with my head held high. I am my mother's daughter, I am my father's daughter, and I will do this."

"Of course, I am still your commanding officer..."

I sigh. "I give you permission to fire me."

She shakes her head. "Can't," she replies, putting an arm around me and walking with me out of there. "Want to know why?"

"Why?" I ask as we begin walking slowly down the hallway.

"Because you're one of the best damn detectives I've seen in a long time," she replies as we go to the reception area to retrieve our guns. "I'm not going to hand you over to some other department or end your career—we at SVU need you, we all need you."

I chuckle at that. "I'll be there for you," I reply. "For all of you." We get into Olivia's car then, and I remind her that I'll pay for any damages her car sustains—i.e., if I get blood on the upholstery.

"Don't even worry about it," Olivia says as we make our way out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. "I wish you would've let me call you an ambulance, though, Edythe. I feel bad that I can't break the speed limit..."

I shrug. "Hey, think of it as a grandmotherly duty sort of thing..."

She laughs then. "Well, sure, if you want to put it that way..."

"Promise I'll tell you if my vision gets blurry..."

"I'll hold you to that."

I bite my lip. "Liv, can I ask something? Not about work or anything like that, but a more personal one? You can tell me if I'm out of bounds..."

She nods, and I see her expression change—she knows what I'm going to ask her, and she knows that I have a right to know. "I'll let you know."

I sigh, rolling my shoulders. "Liv, who's my grandfather?"

"Yeah, you would be curious to know that, especially after your mother couldn't get it out of me..."

"Who is he?" I ask. "Please, just tell me—he's not some lowlife creep, is he? Not locked up somewhere, is he?"

"No, nothing like that," Olivia replies. "I look him up from time to time—he's doing fine. He's got a family now. He was married for a while to a younger woman, but the woman turned to drugs and illegal activity. They had a child together, but once the woman got so deep into that lifestyle, he wanted out. He left her, changed his identity, and went to medical school. He has his own practice in Greenwich Village—he's a brain surgeon."

"A brain surgeon—wow," I say, shaking my head. "Listen, I don't want you to be offended, and I swear I won't mention it if I do, but..."

"You want to meet him?" she asks.

I nod. "I'd like to, yes."

She nods. "I understand. But I don't understand why you're asking me. Are you wanting my blessing?"

I shrug. "Maybe, or your approval, I don't know. I just don't want you to be upset when I do, because I will, regardless. I just don't..."

Olivia peeks over at me. "Do you honestly think I'd fire you for wanting to meet your grandfather? What do you take me for, Edythe?"

I sigh. "I know—I'm sorry. I just want to check him out. Who knows? Maybe I'll be so turned off I won't even tell him who I am."

Olivia smiles. "Oh, you will," she assures me. "He's a great guy—you just have to give him a chance."

I smile back at her. "You gave me a chance," I reply. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

I was relieved when, at the hospital, the doctors confirmed that I didn't have a concussion and that my daughter was going to be all right. Just as I'd been given a clean bill of health, Lincoln burst through the doors, and Olivia patted him on the shoulder as she walked out. He got a good look at my bandaged head and bruised neck and quickly, yet gently, threw his arms around me.

"What the hell?!" he whispers, gripping me tightly.

I pull back, shaking my head. "I'm fine, I promise," I say, peeking at the doctor, who smiles and nods before she leaves the room. "How did you manage to get here so quickly?" I ask him.

"Fairfield's looking after Leia today, picking her up and all that," he replies. "I had some depositions and things to go over in the office, and today was the day that I had lunch with Barba..."

Immediately, I straighten in my seat. "What did you discuss?"

He smiles. "Well, I told him that I wanted to be his successor, and told him that my firm could be a good resource for him."

"And what did Barba say?"

Lincoln grins, taking my hands. "He says that he's been entertaining the idea of various New York attorneys succeeding him... He said that Buchanan had been wining and dining him, but Barba explained that the position of DA should be for someone younger and well..." He shrugs. "I've just become New York's latest ADA, and I'll be involved in all of his court cases from here on in."

"Lincoln!" I cry out, throwing my arms around him. "That's so great! Oh—too hard," I say, pulling back from him and rolling my shoulders. "I think I'll need some physical therapy after this..."

"How about a trip to a spa?"

I grin at him. "Maybe," I reply. "Listen, I know you've made a few connections over the years with high-profile clients..."

He nods. "Yeah, I've made a fair few. Why? Want me to dip into someone's taxes or something?" he jokes.

"I know you don't practice that kind of law," I say, trying and failing not to laugh at his statement. "Do you know any surgeons based out of Greenwich Village? I suppose I could just Google it, but... Better to have a connection, you know? It's not like I need my head examined..."

My husband snaps his fingers in a moment of remembrance. "Oh, you're talking about Dr. Marshall Hamilton," he replies, nodding. "Good man, very intelligent—he was on good terms with my father, actually. He's one of the top five brain surgeons in the State of New York, and in the top twenty nationwide. Why do you ask about him?"

I sigh. "Olivia gave me some information about my grandfather—my adoptive grandfather," I clarify. "It seems that Dr. Marshall Hamilton is the man that got her pregnant in college, and they had my mother..."

Lincoln's eyes widen at that. "Oh, my god. I wasn't aware that he had more children..."

"How many does he have?"

"Five," he replies. "He had your mom, then one with his second wife before he ended up disappearing..."

"You knew about that?" I ask.

He nods. "Of course—my parents put him up for a while and helped him out financially for medical school and securing a new life. Then after he's been in business for five years—and had successfully paid them off—he met and married Claudia Montgomery and they had two children together, Eden and Gunner—they're fraternal twins. They're about eighteen now..."

"So, my mother has three half-siblings?" I whisper, shaking my head. Immediately, I get to my feet, and take off my hospital gown, trying to control my laughter as Lincoln tries and fails to keep his facial expressions in check. I put my suit back on and shoes, before putting my gun and badge back on. "Call Dr. Hamilton, please, Lincoln," I say. "See if he's available."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

I turn to him and smile. "It's time for the mystery to be solved," I reply.

We make the drive from Manhattan to Greenwich Village in forty minutes due to some moderate traffic. We arrive at the pristine, modern-looking building made mostly of glass, with a sign that read DR. MARSHALL HAMILTON, BRAIN SURGEON, on a sandstone sign with bright, chrome lettering. Parking in the lot and letting ourselves into the elevator, we went up to the sixth floor and into the lovely foyer, with expensively tiled floors. Walnut coffee tables dotted the walls, along with pastel-colored walls at their bases, with nondescript still-lives on the wall, and simple potted plants on their surfaces that could be picked up at any grocery store for a few dollars.

We walked up to the receptionist; she was of Asian descent, with her silky, black hair clipped back with an expensive pin. She looked up at us and smiled, particularly at Lincoln, and got to her feet. "Mr. Beckett—so wonderful to see you again," she said.

"You as well, Katie," he replies. "Is Marshall in?"

"Yes, he's finished with his three o'clock phone consultation and his next appointment isn't for an hour. He's expecting you," she says, walking across the reception area, her pencil dress to die for, along with her Jimmy Choo heels. She knocks on a door, and after an assent from the other side, opens it. "Dr. Hamilton, Mr. Beckett and his wife are here to see you."

"Thank you, Katie. Please send them in."

"Of course, doctor," she says, standing back for us to enter.

"Lincoln!" he says, getting to his feet and promptly shaking my husband's hand. "I am always happy to see you!" He has kind, violet eyes, a Roman nose, and closely-cropped, dark hair. "How are you, son?"

"Fine, thank you, Marshall," Lincoln says, moving to the side after the good doctor has shaken his hand and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "This is my wife, Detective Edythe Beckett."

"Edythe, I—" Dr. Marshall Hamilton moves to take my hand, but the moment his eyes lock onto mine, he looks as if he's seen a ghost. "Edythe?" he says again. "Is that...? Would that happen to be with a 'Y' and not an 'I'?"

I blink—hardly anyone asked me that unless they were scrawling my name down for me. "Yes, Dr. Hamilton, that's correct." I look from his eyes, all throughout his face, and something familiar is about him, but I can't place it. "I'm here on behalf of Captain Olivia Benson..."

"You know Liv?"

I nod at him. "I do—she's my boss, and my grandmother."

He hasn't let me go, but takes his other hand and covers his mouth with it and shakes his head. "You wouldn't...? Are you Maggie's biological daughter?" he asks me, almost as if he's making sure of something.

"No, I'm not," I reply. "She adopted me when I was eleven... You know about my mother?" I ask.

He nods. "Yes—Liv told me about her after she came forward, about a decade ago, and I haven't reached out, out of respect..."

"But why would it matter if I was Maggie's biological daughter?"

Dr. Hamilton turns to Lincoln. "Did you know?"

"After I met Edythe?" he asks, sighing. "I caught some subtle similarities after we began dating, but it wasn't until we were engaged the second time that I really began to question it..."

"But you didn't ask?"

"How could we? We were so busy working and she didn't mention it all that often and I didn't want to pry..."

"What is going on here?" I ask, utterly confused. "One of you better tell me, please. I'm tired of all the secrets..."

The doctor turns back to me, not sure what to say. "How much did Olivia tell you about my history?" he asks.

I sigh. "Well, she mentioned to me that your former wife had some legal trouble and you had to hide out..."

"She made threats on my life," he replies. "Not to speak ill of her, but she was a horrible woman, especially after she got into the drugs. All these hitmen were found to have been keeping company with her, and she said that she was going to pay someone to eliminate me, should I ever leave her."

"And that's when the Beckett's stepped in?" I ask.

"Yes—they gave me an opportunity to save my life and make my life better. As soon as I could, and I had established my practice and gotten the quickie divorce, I went back to try and find my second child, but couldn't. I heard that my second daughter was taken by ACS at the age of seven, and that she had told a police officer that her mother's boyfriend, Jake somebody, had been abusing her, and that's..."

"Oh, my god," I whisper, feeling the tears threatening to fall down my face. "I just can't believe it..."

He sighs. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, sweetheart."

I bite my lips, trying and failing to keep from crying. "I'm not."

He smiles. "Nice to meet you again, sweetheart."

"Nice to meet you again, too... Dad," I whisper.


	14. Collateral Damage

Chapter Fourteen: Collateral Damage

"How are you feeling?"

The question was expected, yet I soon found that finding the language to express my thoughts and feelings wasn't necessarily going to work. "Fine," I reply; it is an automatic response, almost like text guessing the next word on your phone. I bite my lip, turning to look out at the highway as Jensen pulls along.

"Sure was nice of Olivia to give you the rest of the week off."

I sigh, turning and putting my head on Lincoln's shoulder. "I'm starting to think that this nepotism thing is going too far."

"Meaning?"

I peek up at him. "Meaning that I just started at SVU this morning, and already I've been given vacation time. The only way I'd accept is if Olivia refused to have me paid for it."

"And did she?"

I stick my tongue out at him. "No," I reply.

My husband chuckles. "You'll get her next time," he assures me, his arm snaking out from under me to around my shoulders. "I actually have a little surprise for you, Detective Beckett."

"Oh, yeah?" I ask.

He smiles, reaching into his fine leather briefcase by unclicking the golden snaps on its side. Pulling out a legal folder, he hands it over to me. "Here you go," he says, and I straighten up to see what it contains.

Inside, I find a stack of paperwork, which is headed by STATE OF NEW YORK, CERTIFICATE FOR ADOPTION. "Lincoln..."

He tightens his grip upon me. "You wanted to make it official, so we're in the process of doing so. Barba hooked me up with the paperwork himself."

I turn to him and find I am smiling from ear to ear. "You're wonderful," I whisper to him, kissing him. "What did I do to deserve you?"

He shakes his head. "Right place, right time."

I put my forehead against his. "Seems that way," I reply.

Lincoln reaches down and puts a hand on my stomach. "And soon," he says quietly to me, "our family will be complete."

We arrive home within the next hour and I am pleased to see that Leia is still awake and fully ready to be paid attention to. She immediately jumps into my arms and tells me that she and I need to go shopping as soon as possible. Perplexed, I tell her that she needs a bath in preparation for preschool the following morning; it is something I know she looks forward to.

"But I need a dress and cards!" Leia proclaims.

I raise my eyebrows, before leaning down and kissing her on the forehead. "Is that right?" I ask her. "Why is that?"

"My birthday!" she proclaims, triumphantly.

 _Dammit_ , I think to myself. It was now the second week of October, which meant that Leia would be turning five in a month, as her birthday was on the twelfth of November. "That's right, sweetie," I say, beginning to run her typical evening bubble bath for her. "I'll tell you what—I have some time off work this week. How about if after school one day this week, you and I go out for some lunch and then we'll get you a new dress and everything you need for your extra-special, super-duper, fifth birthday party?"

Leia squeals and throws her arms around me. "Yay!" she cries.

I laugh. "Well, now that that's settled, we have something else to figure out," I tell her as she begins taking off her clothes to get into the bath.

"What's that?" she asks, handing me her dark pink sweater.

"Well," I say, helping her with her tights, "we need to figure out just what kind of birthday party you want."

"I want a princess party!" Leia proclaims immediately. "I want the boys to be princes and the girls to be princesses!"

I knew that I'd come to a crossroads in that moment—I could simply acquiesce to Leia's request, or I could turn the situation into a teaching moment. I decided to go with the latter. "Leia, sweetie, remember how Uncle Lincoln and I explained to you about Thompson's living situation?"

She nods. "Yes, Thompson is gay," she replies, proudly. "He has a husband—like you have in Uncle Lincoln. And you said that there's nothing wrong with it."

I nod. "That's right. I mean, you've seen them together when we have little parties with all our friends."

Leia sighs. "Yes... Mommy liked Thompson..."

"Yes. Yes, she did." I knew that I shouldn't brush Henrietta under the rug, but I also knew that the point should be brought up. "But you've seen Thompson with his husband, honey—how did it make you feel?"

"A little weird, at first," she confesses, in the honesty of a child. "But you told me that they love each other."

"Do you think people that love each other—regardless if they're a man and a woman, or two men, or two women—should get married?"

Leia smiles. "If they love each other."

I smile back at her. "Well, that thing you said earlier, honey, about the girls being princesses and the boys being princes..."

"Yeah?" she asks, watching me as I test her water temperature.

"Well, honey, how would you feel if, say, a boy wanted to dress up as a princess or a girl wanted to dress up as a prince?"

Her eyes widen with curiosity. "Do some kids do that?"

I nod. "Of course, even I did sometimes when I was younger. Sometimes, I wanted to be a pirate for the day or something, but most pirates have to wear pants—it makes getting around easier."

"So... Thompson is gay..."

"That's right, sweetie."

"And Mommy said she was a l... What was it?"

I smile at her. "Your mommy was a lesbian, sweetheart."

She nods. "Right. And is it called something if a boy wants to dress like a girl or a girl wants to dress like a boy?"

"Well," I reply, stopping her water, "it's called quite a few things. There's something that happens to some people who, when they're born, think that they're born into the wrong body."

"The wrong body?!" Leia demands, horrified, as she gets into the bathtub. "What does _that_ mean?!"

"Well, sweetie, it means that some girls who were born with girl parts, or some boys who were born with boy parts think that they were born with the wrong private areas," I reply patiently. "They think, and feel in their hearts and minds, that they should have been born the opposite gender."

"Does every boy and girl think that?" she asks.

I smile at her, kissing her forehead. "No, sweetheart, not everyone. But I know in my heart and in my mind that if you feel that way, the most important thing is to have people around you who love and support you."

"Were you born that way, Aunt Edythe?" she asks me.

I shake my head. "No, honey. I knew from the moment I could understand such things that I was a girl, and now I'm a woman."

"Am I like that?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

Leia considers it for a moment, but ultimately shakes her head, finally sure of herself. "No."

"And that's okay, too," I reply, making sure I don't do so too quickly so as she will know that either way, everything would be okay. "But I know that Lincoln and I have discussed it and if we ever had children in that situation, we would be supportive."

"I'm a child..."

I find myself trying not to laugh at the obviousness of her statement; children were unabashedly honest, almost to a fault, and bluntness was a close second to their various attributes. "Yes, sweetheart, you are."

"Am I your child?" she asks. It is truly a poignant moment, and I find myself fighting to make sure that my eyes don't fill with tears. "Yes. Yes, Leia, you are," I say without hesitation, and cross my fingers that she doesn't mind.

She smiles for a moment. "Good," she says, before she becomes so fascinated by her rubber ducky that I know the conversation is over.

After putting Leia to bed—and reading the latest chapter in _Half Magic_ by Edward Eager—I make my way to the master bedroom. I get into the shower, allowing the warm water to fall down my back. Turning at the sound behind me, I let out a laugh as Lincoln gets into the shower behind me. I throw my arms around him, the steam mutually clouding our vision, and I know that I will always, always, always be happy with him, no matter what life threw at us...

"Leia Gabrielle Beckett, I'm not going to call you again!" I holler up the stairs at her. "I had to be out of her twenty minutes ago! If you're serious about getting a car, young lady, you better show some responsibility!"

"Jeez, Mom, thanks a lot!" Leia says, stomping down the stairs, the sight of the highlights in her hair still a shock to me. "Why are you always staring at me?!" she demands, looking at the trio of faces at the bar.

Felicity, at age eleven, is constantly worried that she is doing something wrong, and shoots me a panicked look. "Mom, Leia isn't allowed to talk that way, is she?!" she demands.

I shake my head, kissing my younger daughter's forehead and ruffling her pale brown hair. "No, sweetheart, she's not." I turn to my two sons, Fin (now seven) and Hunter (now four). "Have you finished with your breakfast yet?" I ask the two of them, knowing that they understood that time was important.

"Don't you worry about a thing," Fairfield sings as he troops into the kitchen. "I'll drive them to school."

"You sure you don't mind?" I ask him.

He smiles; silver had begun to gather at his temples, but his eyes had still retained their youth and splendor. "You gave me full-access to the mini-van for a reason, didn't you?"

I nod at him, pulling him into a hug. "You're right, you're right," I say, clapping him on the shoulders as I pull away. "Thank you. Okay, everyone, into the car, and give Mommy her goodbye kisses."

All my children—even Leia—come forward and kiss and hug me goodbye. I hand over their specially made lunches by Thompson and wave them out, sending a quick text to Amanda that I was going to be late. Since Olivia had retired after being shot in the line of duty a decade ago, Fin had taken over SVU, until he decided to focus more on Ken, his son, and had left the squad five years ago. Now, Amanda was the commanding officer, with Carisi as her second, as Lieutenant of SVU, and I myself had been promoted to Sergeant of SVU a year and a half ago. It was interesting, especially considering they would ask me my opinion whenever it came to hiring new detectives, and my new partner, Darcy Pollock, was no exception, although she was a straight-shooter.

Just as I'm about to head out the door and get into the car, I get a phone call from the fostering agency that Lincoln and I had signed up for in the year after Fin had been born. I let out a half-groan, knowing that, should I take the call, that I would probably end up being even later. However, this was a part of my job—saving children—and I knew that I had an obligation. I quickly swiped right on the green phone icon, and put the phone up to my ear.

"Sergeant Beckett," I said promptly.

"Hello, Edythe, it's Jackie,," she replied efficiently, her kindness always prevalent whenever I took her phone calls. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine, thank you, Jackie," I reply, walking back into the living room. "I do hope everything is fine on your end as well."

She sighs. "Well, not all fine. To come right out with it, Edythe, we have a pair of teenagers who need your help."

"Uh-huh," I say. "What are their names?"

"Chelsea and Owen Torrance," Jackie replies. "They're twins. They're almost seventeen years old."

"What's the reason behind them being fostered?" I ask.

"Dad's in prison for life for murder," she says, despair in her voice, "The mom was just murdered in a knife fight over the weekend over a dispute involving a certain brick of crack cocaine."

"You've got to be kidding me," I reply, putting my head in my hands. "Well, I have some vacation days saved up... I'll call my captain and let her know that I'm not coming in today. Thankfully, it's Friday and I'll have time to get them settled in here... When can they be here?"

"Noon is the soonest we've got somebody coming out that far..."

I nod. "That's perfect," I reply. "I'll get two of the guest bedrooms ready and go out and furnish the rooms appropriately... What are they into?"

"Chelsea is all about fashion, believe it or not," Jackie replies, a slight chuckle behind her voice. "All about pop culture and all that. Owen, on the other hand, is a complete bibliophile who loved classic literature."

"Okay, got it," I say, having put Jackie on speaker and taking down her notes in my notepad app. "And how is there clothing situation?"

"Not good, I'm afraid," Jackie replies. "We have their sizes in their folders—they've been in care before—and we always take it down so as the foster parents can potentially provide clothes beforehand."

"Can I have their sizes, please?"

Once Jackie has given me all the information she can, I make sure that she still has my address on file before I end the conversation. Getting to my feet, I quickly call Amanda and explain the new development, and she is very understanding. After busting a child pornography ring earlier in the week, she is very forgiving of me for taking the day off work to help some needy teenagers. I make my way upstairs, sending a quick text to Lincoln before he heads into court to begin prosecuting the child pornography ring I'd taken down, and peek into the various guest bedrooms we had available.

I selected a wonderful green room for Owen, which I decided to fill with the ornately carved bookshelves some books from our library, as well as shopping for some new ones with him. I made note of people deemed to be philosophical by the younger crowd and decided to get posters of Shakespeare, George Orwell, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Stephen King, Ernest Hemingway, and Charles Dickens to cover what would now be his walls. I would get him new sheets, pillow shams, and a duvet that would match his bedroom walls, and anything else I decided he would need to ask me for.

I leave the bedroom door open, even opening the window to let in the heavenly June air; the scent of the water fills my nostrils as I step out what is now going to be Owen's bedroom, before heading down the hallway to another bedroom, just opposite of Leia's large room at the end of the corridor. I open the door, looking at the beautiful, antique wooden sleigh bed frame, and take in the color of the walls around me. It is an appealing pale purple, with the molding and paneling done in an attractive, Regency-style off-white.

The bedding is white, and it had just been changed during spring break, complete with five pillows—I decided to get a sixth for a potential splash of color—sheets, and a goose down comforter, which each bed in the house sported. The pictures around the room were black and white stills of old-timey actors and actresses, plus a few framed of famous landmarks, which included but were not limited to the Eiffel Tower, the Sydney Opera House, the Coliseum, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the Arc de Triomphe. I decided to buy a subscription to _Vogue, Elle, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, Teen Vogue, Glamour, Allure, Vanity Fair,_ and _W_ so as Chelsea would feel more at home—plus some hip clothes would probably help the transition period as well.

I check my watch and see that it is nearing nine a.m., and I know that, should I want to get everything done in preparation for Chelsea and Owen's arrival, I would have to get a move on. I quickly texted Jackie as I headed out the door if either of them had any food allergies, and cursed myself for not asking her earlier. Jackie got back to me and said that Chelsea was lactose in-tolerant, but enjoyed a specific brand of milk and that she could eat yogurt, cheese, and ice cream. Jackie also mentioned that Owen had a nut allergy, but that it just involved consuming it, so he would be all right if my other kids were eating it. I decided to also make a run to the store after purchasing the ornamentations and the textiles that I'd already made mental notes of, wanting to be sure that both new additions to the family—whether they would be temporary or not, would feel right at home.

I quickly called Jackie as I pulled into the parking lot of the mall. Once she answered, I said in a rush, "Sorry, I meant to ask—are either of them vegetarian or vegan or something?"

Jackie laughs at me being flustered; she was the first person that I'd become best friends with since Gina moved to Japan after getting a lucrative job at a law firm out there and Henrietta had passed away, so it was nice to have someone to laugh with again. "No, they love meat, Edythe."

I sigh, relieved that the shopping wouldn't be as complicated. "Okay. Okay, I think I can handle this."

"I've emailed you lists of snacks that they like," Jackie tells me patiently. "Don't worry—you'll do fine."

"Thank you," I reply. "Will you be dropping them off?"

"Yes, and I'm so sorry, but the drop-offs been pushed to one o'clock. Will that be a problem, Edythe?"

I shake my head. "No, of course not. Fairfield is handling all the pick-ups and drop-offs for the kids today—I asked him before I left the house earlier and he's handling all of it."

"Excellent," Jackie replies. "Oh, dear—I have another call."

"No problem," I tell her. "See you later."

Leaving my car and heading into the department store, I manage to find a nice salesgirl, and explain that I am shopping for almost-seventeen-year-olds, and she shows me their teenager section. I buy mainly sweaters, collared shirts, slacks, suit pants, dressy shoes, and things like that for Owen, after being sent a few images from Jackie about the kinds of clothes that he is into. For Chelsea, I get leggings, skirts, jeans, blouses, t-shirts, flats, sneakers, dresses, and various hair accessories that I think she'll enjoy. I also get a few, moderately-priced pieces of jewelry, especially when the salesgirl tells me that they are very 'in' right now.

Next, I head next-door to a bookstore, where I buy many bestsellers and classics for Owen, including the _Harry Potter_ series, _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ and _Animal Farm_ by George Orwell, _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, _Slaughterhouse Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut, _The Things They Carried_ by Tim O'Brien, _Into the Wild_ by Jon Krakauer, _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens, and _Of Mice and Men_ by John Steinbeck. I also made good on getting Chelsea some magazines, and paid for everything before heading back to my car to go to the grocery store. After managing to find all the snacks that Chelsea and Owen wanted, I drove through a coffee stand for a Frappuccino so as I would be alert for their arrival. I returned home within the hour, and saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock. I quickly put all their clothes into the two washing machines we had and, when they'd finished washing and drying, I brought them all upstairs and folded them and put them inside the dresser and wardrobes respectively. Next, I placed all of Owen's new books and Chelsea's magazines into their respective areas—on Owen's shelves and Chelsea's class table in between the foot of her bed and the desk with the laptop on it, the same as Owen's bedroom.

Once their new clothes were folded and put away, as well as their accessories—both indulgent and textile-wise—I decided to begin setting up a plate of snacks and drinks for them. As one o'clock dawned, I'd just set everything up in the living room when there was a knock at the front door. Pulling a bit at my collared sweater shirt, I made my way through the living room and into the entryway, where I unlocked the front door and smiled at Jackie briefly before locking eyes with each twin respectively.

"Come right in, welcome," I say, taking note of their light baggage. "You can put those by the stairs—we'll take them up later," I say quietly. "You can hang up your coats in the coat closet right here," I say, opening the door, while Jackie merely hangs hers on the tree by the door.

"Thank you," Chelsea says.

I turn and look at her. "You're welcome," I reply, touched. She is a few inches shorter than me—around five feet three—and has wide, dark eyes and long, deep brown hair. Her skin, like Owen's, is as alabaster as mine, and her mouth has the perfect pout to it that all the girls want.

Chelsea moves back after hanging her coat as Owen moves to hang his. "You're nice to open up your house like this, Sergeant Beckett."

"Means a lot to us," Owen puts in, hanging up his coat in the closet.

Even though it was June, a chill had developed that afternoon, so the coats, I supposed, were warranted. "Why don't you come into the living room and sit down?" I asked, and Jackie nodded at me in approval.

"Thank you," Chelsea said, following Owen, who was close to Lincoln's height at over six feet. Chelsea took a seat on the couch, while Owen took an armchair, and I moved to sit next to Chelsea, while Jackie sat on a loveseat. Chelsea looked as if she was admiring the room, and then her eyes caught the table in the center of it all, and saw the provided snacks. "Oh," she said, shocked.

"I had Jackie tell me all about your favorite foods," I tell them gently. "I also was told of your food allergies, which I've passed on to Thompson."

"Who's Thompson?" Owen asks, curious.

"He's our cook," I reply. "I'm a police sergeant for Special Victim's Unit in Manhattan, and my husband is the Manhattan District Attorney, and we have four children between us, so we have busy lives."

Chelsea bites her lip. "They mentioned that you adopted one of them," she says softly, almost as if she is afraid of offending me.

I nodded. "It's okay, Jackie," I say, when I see Jackie giving Chelsea a look. "I did, well, my husband and I did. We adopted our oldest, Leia, after Lincoln's younger sister, Henrietta, unfortunately passed away. We even had to come home early from our honeymoon to take custody of her. But, we don't resent her, and adopted her a few months later, when she was five."

"How old is she now?" Owen asks.

"She's sixteen," I reply. "She'll be seventeen in November."

"And your other three kids?" Chelsea asks.

"Fin, my oldest son, is seven—his birthday is the same month as Leia's—and my younger son, Hunter, is four," I reply. "I was going to take Leia car shopping in the next few weeks, and we'll get you enrolled in her high school so that she can take you in the mornings. Do either of you drive?"

"Yes," they both said.

"And doesn't Leia go to the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts?" Jackie puts in. "It's an audition school, isn't it?"

"Didn't you see our file?" Chelsea asks, looking slightly hurt.

"That's where we go," Owen says quietly.

"That's great," I say, knowing that it would certainly make the school run easier on particularly hectic mornings. "What art majors are you doing? Leia is doing drama, film, and vocals."

"Drama, instrumental music, and fine arts," Chelsea replies.

"Drama, film, and fine arts," Owen says.

"Well, then I suspect you'll be seeing Leia around school," I say. I assumed that the twins had been a part of a scholarship program, due to their lack of finances that I expected they'd been a part of. "Hey, why don't I show you around the house a bit? Then, you can take your things upstairs to your rooms."

"We get our own rooms?" Chelsea asks.

I blink—had they not had their own rooms at home? "Yes, of course," I reply. "It's is in my code of conduct that I provide children with their own rooms. Were you both six-years-old and younger, then you could share a room. At sixteen, for both of you, it would be inappropriate for you to share a room with someone who isn't the same gender."

"Thank you," Owen says, softly.

"I'll get the paperwork for you to sign all put together while you show them around the house," Jackie says efficiently, fishing into her bulky purse as I get to my feet and motion for them to follow me.

"Through here is the kitchen," I say, and Thompson is just putting a batch of cookies into the oven. "Hey, Thompson."

He turns around and smiles at me. "Good afternoon, Edythe," he replies. "And this must be Owen and Chelsea. How do you do?"

"Fine, thank you, Thompson," Chelsea replies.

"Nice to meet you, Thompson," Owen says.

"We eat our breakfast here at the bar," I say, motioning to the eight-seater bar we had had custom-made over a decade ago. "There's a nook over there and we have our lunch in there. And beyond that is the dining room where we have our dinner every night, if we're all home." I move to keep the tour going, and Owen nods to Thompson while Chelsea gives him a little wave. "Back down this hall is the entertainment room on the other side, while right here," I say, opening the door and watching for Owen's reaction, "is our library."

"You have a library?" he whispers, his eyes wide.

I nod at him. "Yes—I told my husband that before we were married, my dream house had a library; he listened. He also uses it for his office if he brings work home with him. Classics on this shelf, contemporaries on that one. We also have a young adult section as well."

"Harry Potter," Chelsea says, looking at the young adult section.

"Of course—but everyone has their own copies of those," I explain. "These are the library copies. You can take out as many as you like, and read them anywhere you like; Lincoln and I just ask that you bring them back into this room and put them back as soon as you've finished." I take them out of the library and back down the hallway, where they each grab their suitcases and bring them upstairs. I open the door to Owen's room first, and his eyes widen.

"My room?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes. I took Jackie's specifics to heart."

Owen walks over to his wardrobe, unsnapping his suitcase and opens it, to begin putting his clothes away. "Clothes?"

I nod. "Yes. I did a little shopping. For you, too," I say to Chelsea, turning around and squeezing her shoulder, and she looks like a child on Christmas morning. "So, are you all right in here?" I ask him. "Mind if I show Chelsea her room?"

"No, no that's fine," Owen says in a rush, dashing the tears from his eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I say, putting an arm around Chelsea as we walk down the hallway. "Jackie told me about your likes and dislikes, so I thought this room would be perfect for you," I say, opening the door. "Go on in."

Chelsea steps cautiously over the threshold, but spots the magazines and gasps at their glossy covers. She sets her suitcase down beside the wardrobe and opens it, her eyes widening at the clothes I'd bought her. "You're nice," she says softly, and turns to face me. "You really didn't have to do all this."

I smile at her. "Do you like everything?"

She runs her hand over one of the sweaters I'd bought her—cream, long-sleeved, with thick, black stripes. "Our mom... She never did anything like this—for either of us."

I step forward, and put my arm around her shoulders again. "Some moms are better at doing different things."

Chelsea shrugs.

"What was your mom good at?"

"Being in the wrong place at the wrong time," she mutters. She leans into me, and I know that, above all, Chelsea needed comfort.

"Well, rest assured that you'll be very happy here."

She peeks up at me. "My mom didn't understand me."

I cock my head to one side. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"Well..."

Owen suddenly appears in the doorway. "You should unpack now," he says to his sister—more helpful than controlling.

Immediately, feeling out of bounds, I step back from Chelsea. "He's absolutely right," I say, squeezing her shoulder as I walk past. "You're still unpacking, or just getting the feel of your room?"

Owen smiles. "Maybe a little of both."

"I see," I say. "Well, have fun. Have you looked in the two doors yet?"

"In my room?"

"Yes. Every room has three doors, but two are on the inside."

He blinks. "What are they?"

"One is a walk-in closet, the second is an en suite bathroom."

"What's en suite mean?" Chelsea asks.

"Connected," Owen says quickly.

"You are a bibliophile," I say, shooting Owen a smile. "I have to go downstairs and sign that paperwork now. Once you've both finished unpacking and gotten the feel of your new rooms, come downstairs. Jackie and I won't be much longer and the two of you can have some milk and cookies."

"I can't..." Chelsea begins, looking unsure.

I smile at her. "Don't worry—I bought your milk and Thompson knows all about your food allergies. Trust me, you'll both be fine here." I move towards the staircase and head down, making my way past the foyer and into the living room and flashing a smile at Jackie. "They're settling in fine," I assure her as I sit down on the couch beside her. "Now, where do I sign?"

I'd called Fairfield to let him know to tell the kids that Chelsea and Owen were now living with us. I also called Amanda and told her to expect me on Monday, bright and early, for work. And I'd also made a call to Leia, telling her that I was taking her car shopping that weekend, letting her know that she would also need to be on hand to give Owen and Chelsea rides as well. When Leia, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter all flew into the house, with Fairfield bringing up the rear, that afternoon, I had already called Chelsea and Owen downstairs to meet them.

"Come on into the living room," I said, knowing that the scent of Thompson's chocolate chip cookies would literally sweeten the deal.

Felicity, always astute when it came to having new people in the house, took her customary place on her favorite couch cushion. While Leia attended Frank Sinatra School of the Arts, she and her younger brothers attended Sappo School, a K-12 private school not too far from the house. We'd told her that, after eighth grade, she would be allowed to go to a high school that specialized in arts, or a magnet school she wanted, if she so chose.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling at Chelsea and Owen in turn. "I'm Felicity, I'm eleven, and I play violin."

Chelsea is immediately taken with her. "Nice to meet you," she says, and puts out her hand. "I'm Chelsea. I'm sixteen. I like designing clothes."

Once Owen, Fin, and Hunter had introduced themselves, I had just managed to get Leia to open up when I heard a key in the lock.

"Oh, good," I say, walking towards the front door and automatically grinning like a love-struck teenager when Lincoln opened the door. "Hi, honey. You're back early," I say.

"Court case let out early," he says. "They'll need you in court to testify first thing on Monday."

"Sounds great," I say, letting out a small squeal as he pulls me into his arms and kisses me. "Not too much, honey—we have company."

"And they won't miss us for five minutes?"

"Honey!" I scold him, hating the fact that the look he gives me still permits my knees to go weak. "Come on. Don't you want to meet them?"

"Fine," he replies, shooting me a smile as I take his coat from him and hang it inside the closet.

"Chilly in the courtroom?" I ask conversationally as I follow him into the library, where he places his briefcase on his desk.

He shrugs. "No more than usual. Barba set a standard for courtroom dressing. I have to keep up appearances, you know?"

I nod. "Of course." I then allow him to take me by the hand as we return to the living room, and everyone in there turns at our entrance.

Immediately, Leia, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter set upon Lincoln, throwing their arms around him in a moment of joy. With screams of "Dad!" and "Daddy!" filling our ears, I can't help but wonder how this will impact Chelsea and Owen's feelings. I also wondered that, despite their father being in prison, and thought that I would need to ask them about that. I'd managed to find out that he was locked up in Attica, and knew that we in SVU had pull there. If either of them wanted to go and see him, of course I would support it.

Later, after eating the dinner and dessert Thompson had provided—and renewing my promise to Leia to go and buy her a car the following day—I made sure that Fin and Hunter were all asleep. Hunter's established bedtime was eight, while Fin was permitted to be awake until eight-thirty; as for Leia—whose bedtime was whenever she wanted, as long as it was before midnight on school nights—she would have the same rules as Chelsea and Owen.

I explained as much to both of them, and they were fine with that. I checked on Owen myself after he'd taken a shower around nine-thirty, and told him that he was permitted out on school nights until seven, if he had our permission and we knew where he was. I said curfew on weekends was eleven, and he seemed to absorb the information like some high-class kitchen sponge. He smiled and said that he didn't go out much, other than a few late nights in the school theater for play rehearsal, but he would let me know otherwise. I said that we had an extra car for such things—which Leia used whenever she was in a late rehearsal—which I said I'd give him the keys for once we got Leia her car.

I went in to check on Chelsea, who had also taken a shower, and went into her bedroom. She had her nose in a fashion magazine, but once I seemed like I wanted to talk to her, she promptly put it aside. I explained the rules about curfews and whatnot to her, and also mentioned about her dad, which I'd also said to Owen, about visiting him in prison.

She shrugged. "I don't know—he didn't really get me either."

I mulled that over for a moment. "Sweetheart, when you say that your parents didn't get you, what do you mean? Did they not think you being involved in the fashion industry was a good career choice, or...?"

Chelsea shakes her head. "No, it's nothing like that. But it does have to do with something I like."

I raise my eyebrows, having an idea of what she was talking about. "Chelsea, are you telling me that your parents didn't approve about potential romantic interests you had?"

She bites her lip. "Yes," she replies.

I decide to be careful, not wanting to offend her to the point where she wouldn't talk to me at all. "Were you running around with boys they didn't approve of or something?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "No—I think that would've been an improvement over what I do like."

"You can tell me, Chelsea. Really."

She pulls up her legs so as her knees are tucked beneath her chin. "It won't get me thrown out of the house?"

"Unless you're doing something illegal, then no."

She shakes her head. "It's not illegal."

"Well, all right, then. What is it?"

Her eyes lock with mine. "I'm gay," she replies. "I'm gay, and I have a girlfriend and my mom and dad didn't like that."

I smile at her, pleased that she's opening up to me. "It's okay, sweetheart. Is she someone you go to school with?"

She nods. "Yeah—she's a junior, too. Her name is Miranda Andrews. She's in the dance program—she wants to be a ballerina."

"That's wonderful. Just let me know if you ever want to have her over for dinner—Lincoln and I would love to meet her."

Chelsea smiles. "Thank you for not hating me."

I shake my head at her. "Not for that—never." I say goodnight shortly thereafter and make my way down the hallway. I stop into Leia' bedroom, but she is reading a book for school; I remind her not to stay up too late, telling her again about car shopping the following day. I head to my bedroom to change, knowing that Lincoln will be in his office for a little while longer. Just as I've changed into a new outfit—more for him than for me—to go and surprise him, my phone vibrates and I answer it. "Beckett," I say into it.

"Hey, Edythe, it's Amanda."

"Amanda, hey. Everything okay?"

"No, not entirely. There was a break-in at your mother's house."

Immediately, I'm on edge. "A break-in?"

"Yes. She and your father were working late in the city, and your sister Olivia was supposed to be watching the boys."

I sigh, shaking my head. In recent years, Livi had been in and out of drug rehab and at sixteen, wasn't much of an improvement. "How are Donnie and Mason?" I ask, hoping for some good news.

"That's the thing, Edythe..."

"What's the thing?"

"Livi is here, all beaten up..."

"Can she talk?"

"Edythe..."

"Put her on, Amanda," I say my voice firm. "Now." I wait for a moment and then I know that Livi is on the other end of the phone. "Livi."

"H-hi, Edythe." "Dear god, what did you do?" I demand, already changing. I don't get much out of her, so I get into a spare change of clothes, sending Lincoln a text that I'm going out and drive like a mad woman nearly two hours north to get there. I know then that my parents are more than likely knee-deep into something not to arrive yet, and make my way from my car and into the front door. I see Livi sitting there, two black eyes taking over her face, a bag of frozen peas covering one of them.

"Livi." I step forward, and neither Amanda nor Carisi stop me as I bend down in front of her. "What the hell did you do?!"

She shudders, knowing that I've officially gone full-cop mode on her. "Mad Dog needed money... I couldn't give it to him..."

"Mad Dog?!" I demand. "Your pimp? Livi, you _promised_ Mom and Dad that you would quit this life..."

"I'm sorry!" Livi screams. "He took the boys... He took them... He said that if I couldn't pay the debt, he'd take them as collateral and he did!"

"Oh, my god," I say, shaking my head and feeling sick to my stomach. "Let me see your cell phone."

Livi goes pale. "Why?"

"Give it to me, or I'm taking it."

"No..."

I reach down and take it from her pocket, while she attempts to hit me and fails miserably. "Your birthday is your passcode? Really?" I say to her, shaking my head at her stupidity before unlocking her phone effortlessly and scrolling through her texts. I see the texts from her and Mad Dog, and know immediately that she has the whole thing staged—broken windows, valuables scattered around the house, a fake assault... "Read it and weep," I say, tossing the phone to Carisi, who promptly shows it to Amanda.

"I'll be damned," Carisi says, shaking his head.

Amanda looks at me, before nodding. "Your collar," she says.

Nodding back, I turn to Livi and haul her to her feet. "Olivia Grayson, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, staging a robbery, and staging an assault," I say, just as my parent's troop into the room.

"Edythe!" my father says.

"What are you doing?!" my mother shouts. "Let go of her!" she says, crossing the room and attempting to get my handcuffs off of Livi.

"Read the text please, Captain Grayson," Amanda says, and nods for Carisi to hand over Livi's phone.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," my mother says, and I feel my mouth drop open at that.

"No, it's not," I say. "God... I can't believe you let your own biological daughter manipulate you like this..." I shove Livi towards the door, where a pair of her shoes and one of her jackets are located. "Put those on, let's go," I say, hauling her out into the darkness, physically feeling both of our parents at my heels. "Don't try to stop me from doing my job," I say, not looking back at them.

"You're out of the family if you do this!" my father shouts as I put my hand on top of Livi's head and put her into the back of my car.

I turn and look back at them, forcing myself not to cry. "I was out of the family a long time ago," I reply, shutting Livi into my car before rounding it myself and driving off their property and into Manhattan.


	15. Dancing in the Dark

Chapter Fifteen: Dancing in the Dark

"You're not going to speak to me at all, are you?" Livi demands from the back seat as I drove along the darkened highway.

"Trust me, Livi—I've been where you're sitting right now. It's not fun, and I know it. But I got out of this life, and so can you."

"You didn't have a pimp," Livi shoots back in a huff, crossing her arms. "Mom told me everything."

"Believe me, I had a pimp," I reply, knowing that I'm already deep into this. "Of course, I even believed it myself at the time that he was my boyfriend. Let me guess—Mad Dog says he loves you, right?"

Livi looks away. "That's none of your business."

"Believe me, sister, it is my business," I reply. "Not only am I your sister, but I'm your arresting officer. If it's not me questioning you down at the precinct, it's going to be Amanda or Carisi. You've got to understand this—I'm not letting you off purely because you're my sister. Mom and Dad might give you the benefit of the doubt, but once you're booked, I'm going to find the boys."

Livi is silent throughout the rest of the drive, alternating between sighing, looking down, or gazing out the window. We arrive at the precinct within the hour, and I get her out of the back seat, hauling her by the arm and into the squad room. I give tight-lipped expressions to people, who looked shocked that I'd arrested my own sister as I made my way to the main room. Amanda and Carisi had already arrived, and motioned for me to put her into an interrogation room.

"Do you want to be the one to question her?" Amanda asks as I shut the door behind me and make my way into her office.

I run my hands through my hair. "Honestly, no. It doesn't have anything to do with the whole conflict of interest thing—she just has a lot of anger directed towards me right now, and I don't think I should do it. I will, if you think it's best, but I think I should have back-up..."

"Carisi?" Amanda asks, looking over at him.

"No problem," he replies, moving from his place over by the wall. "Let's get to work," he says to me.

"I'll be watching," Amanda tells me. "I've already called Lincoln in to see what kind of evidence and charges we can bring against her."

"I'll text Leia, tell her she's in charge," I say, getting out my phone. "And now she's calling me..."

"Take a minute," Amanda says, looking at Livi with Carisi through the glass. "We can let her sit for a while."

"Not long," Carisi replies.

"Yeah," I say, moving to the other side of the room. "Knowing my parents, they'll have her out of here by dawn if possible... Hey, honey," I say, putting my phone up to my ear. "Sorry I had to rush out so quickly. With any luck, we'll be able to figure this work thing out and I'll be back in time to get a good nights' sleep. You and I are still going car shopping tomorrow, don't worry."

"Mom, it's not that—although, thank you, that means a lot—but the internet is officially blowing up!"

"Blowing up?" I ask, and Amanda and Carisi turn to look at me. "Honey, what are you talking about?"

"Mom, did you arrest Livi?" she asks me.

"Great," I say, shaking my head. "Who told you that?"

"Livi had a party tonight—I didn't go—but some people were still hiding on the property when the bust happened. I'm seeing all my friends posting pictures, and there's a video of you hauling Livi into your car..."

Immediately, I motion for Carisi to shut the door as I put Leia on speaker. "Honey, I'm standing here with Amanda and Carisi."

"Oh. Hey, guys," she says.

"Hi, Leia," Amanda says.

"How you doing, kiddo?" Carisi asks.

"Fine," Leia replies. "Look, I know the drill. Save everything to the hard drive and send it to you. I'm on it."

Amanda raises her eyebrows. "Smart kid."

"Good work, Leia," Carisi tells her.

"We'll get it all to TARU immediately," I tell her. "Honey, I have to go in with Carisi and question Livi now..."

"Okay, I've got everything here, don't worry."

"Okay—you sure you're all right?"

"Mom, please. Give me a little credit here—I know the passcode to your gun safe if one of the foster kids gets out of hand."

Amanda and Carisi fight to control their laughter, as I attempt to do with my own temper.

"Sweetheart, may I remind you that my bosses are watching?"

"But you're friends with them," she replies.

"Remind me to never have another kid," I mutter to them, and they salute me respectively, and I roll my eyes at the two of them. "Get to bed before midnight, young lady. I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," I reply, hanging up on her. "Okay, Carisi—ready to question my little sister?"

"Lead the way," he replies.

I shoot Amanda a panicked look, but she gives me a look of reassurance as I step over towards the door, open it, and step inside, Carisi just behind me. "Hey, there, Livi," I say, fighting to keep my voice calm as Carisi shuts the door. "Have you had some time to think about things since I left you in here?"

She shrugs. "Claustrophobia isn't a myth."

I sit across from her and Carisi sits next to me, and I find my nails biting into the palms of my hands as I find myself in this battle of wills. "Okay, Livi. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"The easy way would be you telling us exactly what happened tonight, no pulling out the stops," Carisi tells her. "Then, we'll find a way to get you some sort of reduced sentence."

"Reduced sentence?" Livi says, her eyes locking with mine. "What is the hottie talking about?"

"Careful, Livi, you might already go down for kidnapping—we wouldn't want a potential sexual harassment charge added to that, now would we?" I ask; finally, Livi looks humbled enough for me to continue. "Livi, kidnapping—and conspiracy —are very serious charges."

"You're also an accessory to the crime," Carisi tells her pointedly. "All those lumped together—which probably will end up happening due to your age and family background—you're looking at a one to three-year stint in juvi."

"One to three years?!" Livi cries, finally seeing some of the seriousness to her actions, her eyes bloodshot with unshed tears and drug use. "Oh... Oh, no... Please no, please!" She begins scratching her arms, covered by long sleeves, and it is then that something in my mind clicks.

Getting to my feet, I reach across the table and grab her by the wrist, revealing needle marks piercing her perfect skin. "Dammit, Livi!" I cry, dropping her hand as if it had burned me. "Come on! I warned you about this shit for years, and now look at you!"

Livi curls herself into a fetal position on her provided chair. "So what? I'm a total reject anyway..."

I sigh, nodding at Carisi to take over questioning.

"Livi, how long has the drug use been going on?"

She shrugs. "Four years..."

"You started at twelve?!" I demand, and Carisi squeezes my shoulder, letting me know that my methods aren't working.

"What did you start doing? Drugs or alcohol?"

"Alcohol," she replies. "But that started at eleven."

 _Shit_ , I think to myself.

"Beer?" Carisi asks. "Wine?"

"Cocktails," Livi answers. "But I got into harder stuff eventually."

"Did you start with marijuana first?" he asks.

She nods. "Yeah—I still do it. First had some three months after my twelfth birthday and never looked back."

"And after that?" Carisi asks her.

"Cocaine and heroin," she replies. "Mad Dog—my manager," she says, careful not to use the word 'pimp', "he hooked me up with a good plastic surgeon for touch-ups now and again, if I was good."

"Touch-ups?" I asked, watching my tone. "For what?"

"Fixing my nose," she explains. "How was I going to explain the expanded nostrils to Mom and Dad?"

"You have to behave pretty good if you get special privileges like that," Carisi observes. "What did you do for Mad Dog? Any favors?"

Livi avoids eye contact and rests her chin on her knees. "I don't think we should talk about that..."

I put my hand on Carisi's arm, and raise my eyebrows at him. I am relieved when he motions for me to speak, and I lean forward ever so slightly. "Listen to me, Livi," I say softly, "I've been where you are."

"Stop it with your sympathetic crap," Livi shoots back.

"No, listen," I say, more firmly this time. "I had a pimp, too, although I didn't believe it myself at the time. His name was Ryder Knox, and Mom found me in a hotel room with him on my fifteenth birthday."

Livi locks eyes with mine. "She never told me that."

"I made her swear never to talk about it," I reply. "I was in bed with him, naked, and drunk and high," I say softly. "I had a joint in my mouth, and there were empty beer cans and bottles scattered around the room. Ryder had a joint too, and I had an I.V. in my arm. There was crushed up cocaine on the table at the base of the bed, and my nose and brain were on fire."

"How long?"

"How long?"

"How long were you able to hide it from Mom?" she asks.

I sigh. "She didn't know until that night, so I'd say a good four years," I reply, wanting desperately to level with my sister before it was too late. "It all began right after they adopted me. I didn't know what drove me to it, I just know that I felt like I needed a hobby. At first, it was just sneaking from their liquor cabinet, and then, as my brain became too advanced for my school system, I used prescription drugs to stay up all night. That's why I was skipped ahead a grade, and I wanted to skip ahead even more, but I didn't want them catching on to my habit. That's what I thought it was at the time—a habit. Fact is, it was a severe addiction, pure and simple."

"What happened?" she asks.

"I met Ryder through friends—older friends. My so-called friends thought that he was too much of a party animal for their taste, and they soon disappeared from his inner circle, while I became more engrossed within it," I continue. "I always looked young—the drug use hadn't caught up completely yet—and with my youthful appearance came innocence. I must've been twelve or thirteen the first time Ryder asked me to do him a favor..."

"What did you do?" asks Livi.

"I had to take a subway and then a cab into Harlem," I reply, at one remembering the cigarette-smoke stench of the leather seats in the faded yellow taxi as we drove down towards the house. "Once over there, I had the driver drop me off a block away—Ryder had me convinced that Mom and Dad were having me followed, and they really didn't know anything at all..." I feel myself physically walking down the cracked sidewalk on that overcast afternoon, constantly looking over my shoulder for a drone or whatever it was that I was convinced was following me. "I walked towards that graffiti-covered slum, and just extended my hand and knocked on the door. That's when the creep opened it..."

"Who did?"

"One of Ryder's drug associates," I reply. "He was expecting me, but I hadn't been a part of that world for very long, so he grabbed me by the arm and hauled me into the house. Then he threw me against the wall, pointed a gun at my face, and pretty much demanded that I give him the password, or a name. I gave him Ryder's name, and the password that day—diamonds. He let me go, but his fingers still left their mark on my arm," I say, squeezing my wrist, and still feeling his clammy hands gripping it. "When he went into his stash—we needed an ingredient to make more drugs—I must've looked suspicious or something, because he suddenly pointed the gun at me again..."

"And?" Livi asks, hanging on my every word.

I don't look at her—how can I? I hardly believe it myself as I open my mouth and recall the torture that I experienced in that broken-down slum that should've been condemned long ago. "And that low-life creep pinned me to the wall again," I reply, feeling utterly empty inside. "He tore off my clothes, forced himself inside me, and raped me. I just remember staring at him in shock—the pain was terrible, but I was so high that it was numbed considerably. I'd just begun a new trial of Ryder's latest concoction—GHB, a deadly one—and that's what managed to keep me virtually pain-free during the assault. Then, the guy let me go and shoved me out the back door—I guess he thought Ryder would want me back. I didn't get the drugs, but Ryder waited until I had everything out of my system. He staved off giving me my typical dose, and one I was begging for it—the cherished high—did I get punished. He beat me so badly, yet so cleverly all at once. He was able to beat me in places that nobody would ever think to look—didn't break any bones, either, thankfully. I was never into sports, so it's not like Mom and Dad would look the other way if I came home with my arm in a sling. All I remember is his words, telling me that nobody cared about me, and that I was nothing—he got me to depend upon him, to trust him unconditionally, and it came to the point where I felt like I was nothing."

"But you got out of that life," Livi says quietly. "Once you were out, you went to rehab, and then everything was okay..."

"I never completed the formal rehab," I say to her. "You were too young to understand anything that was going on—how could you? You were just a little girl, so I'm sure Mom was able to explain Dad's absence to you. She probably told you he was working..."

"Dad's absence?" she asks. "I know they were separated for a while when I was really little..."

I shake my head at her. "No, this was after they got back together. Remember? I went to rehab, and Mom was really preoccupied with work because she was distracting herself from Dad's mission with Uncle Mason."

"Uncle Mason?"

"Well, I know I'm a bit older than you, Livi, but please tell me that you remember Uncle Mason..."

She shakes her head. "I don't remember a lot. The one therapist Mom and Dad made me go to last year told me it was because I blocked some things. She wanted to put me under hypnosis so that I could relive my trauma, but Mom screamed at her, and we didn't go back..."

"Trauma?" I ask her. "What kind of trauma?"

"I don't know—I wasn't allowed to find out."

"Are you interested in finding out?" Carisi asks her.

"Well, I..."

"It could help your case considerably," I tell her, turning to Carisi, who knew more about law than I did.

"Your sister is right, Livi," Carisi says. "If you prove to a judge and other law enforcement that you're helping us with this case, and that you're seeking proper treatment—drug, spiritual, mental, physical—then it'll be looked favorably upon by everyone involved."

Livi locks eyes with mine. "Okay," she says softly, "okay, I'll tell you everything, just please don't make me go home."

Immediately, I was on my guard, and I motion for Carisi not to say anything to Livi; I wanted to ask her myself. "Livi, has someone done something inappropriate towards you, other than Mad Dog?"

Tears form in my younger sister's eyes and she slowly nods. "Yes," she whispers, truth dripping from her lips. "Yes. I think so."

"Who was it?" Carisi asks, and I can tell from those three words that, not only does he believe her, but he wants to punish whoever is responsible.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Livi screams brokenly, pushing herself away from the table. She runs towards one of the cement walls and continues screaming; she punches the wall repeatedly, before going towards the one window and proceeds to yank on the bars. "I don't know who did this to me!" she yells, and I immediately get to my feet.

"Livi!" I scream, running towards her. I make a grab for her and pull her back, away from the bars and from hurting herself, and hold her in my arms as she thrashes and screams. "It's okay, it's okay," I whisper, as she turns around and sobs in my arms. "It's all going to be okay..."

She turns slightly, facing Carisi, who has gone white. "I know where Mad Dog's hideouts are," she whispers.

"Okay," he says, slowly.

"I'll write them down," she says quietly, settling into my arms. "May I have a pencil and paper, please?" she asks him.

"Pencil and paper? You got it," Carisi says, leaving the room to confer with Amanda and to get the provisions that my sister asked for.

One early morning, I was woken up by one of the staff members. One of the conditions of good behavior is that you're allowed to sleep an hour later when the girls who have misbehaved have to get up an hour earlier to help with breakfast. I am only about half-way into my extra hour when the rude awakening comes, and I shuffle down the stairs; it is a large group home, so large, in fact, that we don't have roommates, unless you've been punished, and then you're forced to share a room with the person accused of the same crime.

Getting up, I pull on a pair of sweat pants, leaving on my tank top and yanking a sweatshirt over my head. Putting on my slippers, I quickly tug my hair into a ponytail and make my way downstairs. Along the walls are various pictures of girls who have kept in touch over the years, and I find myself wondering if I, too will be a success story from this program.

"Hi, Mom," I call out.

She turns to look at me and smiles; her eyes are red, so I automatically wonder if it is because she missed me so much. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm sorry—did I wake you up?"

I shrug. "Eh, it's fine. Great to see you." I step forward and accept her hug. "Is something wrong? You're here so early, and it's not family day..."

She pulls back and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. "Let's go talk in the living room, okay?"

I nod, accepting her arm around my shoulders and leading her into the main living room off the entryway. She and I sit upon the striped couch along the back wall, and I notice that she waits for the door to be shut completely by the same staff member who collected me from my bedroom before she begins speaking. I find that my mother is gripping my hands tightly, almost as if she is fearful of my reaction to something unknown.

"Sweetheart, you know the reason that your father hasn't been able to come and visit with me these past several weeks, right?"

I nod. "Yeah, Mom. He's on assignment for the FBI with Uncle Mason," I reply matter-of-factly.

She shakes my head. "No. No, he's not. Uncle Mason is still on assignment, but your father got back last night."

I blink. "Where is he, then?" I ask, looking around her, as if a small child might do when given the promise of a present.

She bites her lip, hesitating briefly before forcing herself to speak. "Edythe, I'm so sorry. I got a call before midnight last night saying that there'd been an accident while he was on assignment. He was shot, honey, in the spine, and he had some internal bleeding..." I am silent, so she continues, "They couldn't remove the bullet—they put him into a medically-induced coma—because he began to hemorrhage severely. Because of this, he had a heart attack and he passed away on the operating table." I feel my eyes fill with tears—Daddy? Dead? No... "Daddy's dead, Mom?" I ask then, and I remembered that man from so long ago, in the park with her, before they'd married, and how absolutely wonderful I believed he was.

"Yes, sweetheart," she replies, her eyes filling with tears again. "Yes. Yes, he's dead. I'm so sorry."

I let out a sob then, and lean forward and putting my arms around her. I can't let her go; she is the only parent I have left! I am shaking, as I did on that day in court, as I did when my first high went badly, as I did the first time Jake raped me. I find I cannot let her go, not anymore.

I held my mother and we cried together; I realized then that I didn't want to ever feel this feeling ever again. I didn't want to lose anyone ever again. After about twenty minutes of this, she quickly manages to get the woman in charge of the house to sign my release papers, and I is permitted to pack her things. She tells me that she will be waiting outside, as she needed to get some air.

I walked up the stairs in silence, before walking into my bedroom, the door still open. I shut it behind me, and set about gathering my things for the journey home that early, cloudy morning. Wandering over towards the window, I spot my mother taking her phone out of her pocket, and immediately answering the call. It probably had to do with something about my father—an insurance pay-out, or funeral arrangements—and I shake my head, continuing to pack my things in my monogramed duffel, an envy of a select few girls in the house.

Finally, after I've finished, I really consider my father's death for the first time—no more calling my daddy and having him lift me triumphantly into his arms, even though I was too old for that now. No more backyard picnics; no more swimming championships; no more trampoline competitions; no more anything. Then, I slide to the floor, and stick a fist into my mouth to stop the sobs from becoming far too loud for any of the rehab facility to handle...

"Edythe?"

I turn and look at Amanda, who is offering me some hot chocolate; even in my thirties, I still despised the taste of coffee, and Amanda had added a hot chocolate maker to the coffee station. "Thanks," I say, taking it and inhaling the steam as it wafted into my nostrils.

"How are you feeling about all this?" she asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know what to think. You think Carisi and Darcy can go over the places themselves?"

She nods. "I have complete confidence in them. But what about you? How are you doing?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know," I say, turning to look at Livi, sitting on the floor in a corner of the interrogation room. "I'm surprised my parents haven't come down here and demanded her release... Have they called?"

"No," Amanda replies.

I shrug. "Oh, well." I continue to stare at Livi, and wonder just how alone and afraid she truly feels. "What's going to happen to her?"

"I was hoping you could answer that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she clearly doesn't want to go back home to your parents—and at sixteen, we can't make her go."

I turn back to Amanda. "What are you suggesting?"

"Maybe you should take her home," she replies. "And before you say anything, I was standing right here with Lincoln when you and Carisi were questioning her, and he suggested it."

I raise my eyebrows. "Lincoln? He suggested me bringing my drug-addicted sister to come and live with us?"

"It's a great environment for her," Amanda says. "Far away from any kind of temptation that she knows of."

I shake my head. "I don't know, Amanda. I have my kids, plus the twins we're fostering now..."

"What about your guest house?" Amanda asks. "It's connected to the main house but not considered part of the main house. It has its own kitchen, living room, exercise room... Everything a young woman would need."

"Or everything a recovering drug addict could use to her advantage for a potential relapse," I reply. "I don't know..."

"You told me yourself before that you have security cameras connected to the rooms of the house," she tells me.

I sigh, peeking at Livi again. "Yeah, well, there's that..."

"No harm in asking her," Amanda tells me, following my eyes to look at Livi, who is now in a fetal position and rocking back and forth. "You can tell Livi that she has a choice in this situation—she can go to an in-patient treatment program, she can go back to your parents' house, or she can go live with you and attend an out-patient facility."

I turn back to Amanda, giving her a half-smile. "Seems to me like you already have something in mind for her."

She nods. "I do, actually. It's only about two miles away from where you live. It's one of those old manors that they've converted into rehab."

"What's this place called?" I ask her.

"Silver Rose Manor," Amanda replies. "It's co-ed, but Livi wouldn't be spending nights there, so it wouldn't be an issue."

"And the age range?" I ask her.

"Thirteen to eighteen," she tells me. "It's for teens only, but you hardly ever see anyone there who is over seventeen. It is a safe place, complete with five therapy sessions and three different kinds of workshops every week. Two therapy sessions are one-on-one, with a counselor that the guardian and the patient decide on together, once at the beginning and once at the end of the week. The third one is a co-ed one, held in the middle of the week. And then the other two, usually held on Tuesday and Thursday, are the one gender therapy sessions."

"And the workshops?" I ask.

"You're given different kinds of tests at the beginning, before you're considered for admittance," Amanda explains. "You have to tell the facility about your likes and dislikes, professionally and personally, and they put you into the workshops based on that. There's culinary, creative, combative, and construction. The 'Four C's' they like to call them."

"So, cooking—like kitchen work, or...?"

"That, or restaurant management, things like that," she explains. "Creative can be drawing or painting, plus acting, singing, writing, and dancing. Combative is for individuals who want to serve in the armed forces. And construction is either the one you think of most—a construction worker—or foundation work. Maybe something like architecture, or it could mean the business side of things, like a teacher, doctor, or a lawyer. I mean, it's all comprehensively stated within the website and the packet they give you."

"And how long is all this?" I ask. "I mean, would Livi still have time to do regular school?"

"It's from three to six daily," Amanda replies.

I sigh, rolling my shoulders as I think about this. "God, now she's going to have to change schools..."

"Public or private?" Amanda asks.

I sigh. "Private," I reply. "I know she was in private school at home—until she convinced Mom and Dad to let her do online schooling—but maybe this'll bring back some structure in her life..."

"What about Portledge School?" Amanda asks. "It's where Jesse went for a while before she wanted to go to a magnate school for high school."

"Portledge School?" I ask, skeptical.

"It's private, but not religious," she tells me. "They have an academic honesty policy, where you have to sign something starting in the fifth grade saying that you're against plagiarism and things like that. It's a uniform-like school—Livi would be required to wear dresses, blouses, skirts, tights, or a pants suit, all with dress shoes."

"Shopping, then," I say, sighing. "Mind if I go and speak to her about all this? If she says yes, I'd like to get her home as soon as possible. It's getting late, and I promised Leia that we were going car shopping..."

Amanda nods. "Of course. No problem. I'll give Lincoln a call to make all the arrangements with the judge and everything."

I reach out, squeezing Amanda's arm affectionately before downing the rest of the hot chocolate and throwing the cup into the wastepaper basket. I open the door of the interrogation room, spotting Livi still sitting in the corner by herself, nibbling at her fingers in anxiety, and her eyes bloodshot from the drugs, tears, lack of sleep, and anxiety. "Hey, Livi," I say softly to her.

She gets shakily to her feet. "Hi, Edythe."

"Come over here and sit down."

Livi crosses the room and sits across from me. "Well, I'm ready," she tells me quietly. "Bring back-up in here or whatever—just do it."

"What are you talking about?" I ask her.

She raises her eyes to mine. "You're going to book me now, right?"

I shake my head at her. "Wrong. You're coming home with me."

Livi straightens up in her seat. "So you can keep an eye on me, right?"

I sigh. "Livi, let's be honest here—you really don't have a lot of options. You could go back to Mom and Dad..."

"No!" she cries out.

"Yeah, I figured as much," I say, ignoring the rudeness of her outburst. "Or, you could go to an in-patient treatment facility."

"Or go home with you?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes. You'll go to an out-patient treatment facility close by my house, and you'll live in the guest house on the property. Lincoln and I will eventually sit down with you and discuss the house rules."

"School?" she asks.

"Amanda is giving Lincoln the information of a private school less than an hour away from our house," I tell her. "What grade are you in now?"

She shrugs. "I was supposed to be a junior, but I've missed so much school that I don't even know anymore."

"Okay, well I'm sure they have an exam process to determine things like that," I say gently, not wanting to burden her.

"What's going to happen about the kidnapping charges?"

"Lincoln is going to talk to the judge," I tell her patiently. "Once the paperwork from your therapy sessions come to light, and because it truly seems as if you were afraid for your life—you didn't willingly hand over the boys to Mad Dog—the judge will probably order treatment anyhow."

"What's the facility like?" she asks.

"Well, it's near the house, and I think I remember it being on the water, too. They have various workshops and group, individual, and co-ed therapy."

"And you'll keep me safe?" Livi asks, her voice cracking as her eyes, filling with tears, lock to mine.

I smile at her and reach out to take her hand, which she clasps in mine. "You're my sister," I reply. "So I think you already know the answer to that question."

"Can we go home now?" she asks me.

I nod at her. "Yes," I reply.

"You look like you were in a train wreck."

"Thank you, husband that's supposed to love me unconditionally," I say, shutting our bedroom door behind us and taking off my jacket. "God... I desperately need to take a shower..."

He smiles. "It's three in the morning. You sure?"

I nod. "Yes. The car lot opens at ten and I have to be up by eight to ensure that Leia and I get there on time."

"Sweetheart, _I_ can take her car shopping."

I sigh, shaking my head at him as I cross the room, taking his face into my hands and kissing it. "You're too good—but I made a promise. I said that I'd take Leia car shopping and I will."

Lincoln smiles up at me. "All right—as long as you're sure."

I nod at him. "I'm sure," I reply, and find myself hesitating. "Listen, if you're not cool with Livi staying here, I can make other arrangements."

My husband gives me a perplexed expression. "Why would you think that? Didn't Amanda tell you that it was all my idea?"

"I know it was your idea," I reply. "It's just that..."

"What?"

I nibble at my bottom lip. "You're a really good guy," I reply. "I don't know—I guess I'm not used to how good you are yet."

He gives me the same perplexed expression. "We've been married for twelve years, Edythe."

"Yeah, it's been... What?" I demand, and lock eyes with him, seeing the pure, unabashed amusement in his face as I fish my phone out of my pocket, and see the date—June nineteenth, our anniversary. "Dammit..." I whisper, looking up at him and shaking my head. "Baby, I am so sorry..."

Lincoln grins, looking utterly pleased with himself. "I know there's one way where you could make it up to me..."

I roll my eyes at him. "Classic husband routine—guilt your wife into sleeping with you," I say, getting off the bed. "Nice try," I reply, walking towards the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. Quickly, I strip down, wanting desperately to feel the hot water on my skin before going to bed. However, I decided that it was an opportune time to get Lincoln back for his charade, and opened the door slightly, managing to expose a bare shoulder as I peered out from around the corner. "Oh, honey?" I called.

Lincoln looked up, his eyes immediately telling his innermost feelings. "Yeah?" he managed to get out.

I lower my eyes halfway, not wanting to appear as excited as I felt. "Well, I was just thinking, if you weren't busy... Maybe you could join me in the shower and then I could give you your anniversary present."

Like a puppy, Lincoln immediately gets to his feet, throwing his shirt off as he comes into the bathroom. He chuckles at my squeal as he pulls me to him, and his lips immediately meet mine. "You didn't forget?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Of course not," I reply, reaching into the linen cupboard behind the door and handing over a small box. "Open it."

He opens the box, revealing the two plane tickets I'd gotten for us to Italy. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

I nod. "Yes. I was thinking we could recreate our honeymoon. Of course, I don't know how that can happen, now that we've got the twins, and Livi..."

"Don't forget Leia," he replies. "You know, maybe we should take a leap of faith when it comes to all this."

"A leap of faith?" I ask him. "What are you saying?"

"I may have done some digging when you first gave me the names of our two new additions," he says softly. "A buddy of mine in computer crimes owed me a favor, and I let it slip that I would get him dinner..."

"Okay," I say, turning around and turning on the shower. "Please tell me that neither of them has a record, because so help me, if one of them does—I literally cannot take any more surprises tonight, Lincoln Beckett," I say in a rush as I turn back to face him.

He smiles and shakes his head. "No. Of course, There were some hits, but only familial ones because of what their parents did. And then there was something about Chelsea getting beaten and sent to the hospital..."

"Did they say who did it?" I ask.

"Yeah—it was her mother," he replies. "Said that her mother was prostituting her out for extra cash..."

My eyes immediately fill with tears. "Oh, my god," I whisper.

"Yes," he replies, pulling me into his arms and running his hands up and down my back to soothe me. "The police report was attached, and I was able to print one off for you..."

"What?!" I cry out, grabbing my robe and running out of the bathroom, towards the desk, and finding the stack of paperwork.

"Honey..."

"Lincoln, just a minute, please," I say and, although I hear him sighing, I know he knows that I can never stop being a cop. I rifle through all the paperwork—some of his court notes got mixed up with the police report—but finally I find it. "Did you look through it?"

"I skimmed the top," he confesses, "but not all of it."

Allowing that, I go through it as quickly as possible, and that's when my fears are confirmed. "Oh, my god..."

"What?"

I turn to my husband then, and find that I am shaking from head to toe. "Her mother was prostituting her, but not just for the extra cash..."

"What other sick reason could there be?"

I sigh. "Honey, Chelsea told me that she's gay," I say slowly. "And, well, it seems her mother wasn't on board with that."

"What are you saying?" he demands.

I try and fail to keep the tears from falling out of my eyes. "I'm saying that her so-called mother thought that allowing strange men to rape her own daughter would supposedly 'cure' her of her lesbianism!" I cry out, my hands forming fists as I crumple up the report.

"What?!" he demands, pulling the report from my hands and reading it.

"Second page, third paragraph," I whisper, moving to lower myself into the desk chair to my right. "I just can't believe it..."

"That sick, sick woman," Lincoln whispers.

"God knows if she got any infections from it—or got pregnant! Didn't even say if her mother had the decency to ask those lecherous men to use a condom!" I cry out, slamming my fist down, hard, upon the desk. "Dammit..."

"Honey, it's okay..."

"No," I say softly. "No, no it's not. My family is becoming full of people who need the tools in order to transition from victims to survivors."

Lincoln reaches out and squeezes my shoulder in a reassuring manner. "God, I'm so sorry, honey. I don't wish that form of pain on anyone... God knows I know what it feels like..."

I turn back to him and shake my head. "Watching someone go through the pain isn't the same thing as going through it yourself, Lincoln. I appreciate your sympathy, but this is one thing that you'll never fully understand—not as a lawyer, or husband and father. It's just not."

He shakes his head, letting out a full-bodied sigh; his shoulders slump then as he pulls over an ottoman and moves to sit opposite me. "I'm sure you remember Kassandra Martin _é, the woman who nearly ended our plans of marriage and a life together forever?"_

 _"How could I forget such a woman?"_

 _"I knew her family for years—our mothers were like sisters. My parents had some marital problems when I was young—which resulted in the birth of Henrietta—and my mom and I went to stay at their vacation home near Cape Cod during my summer vacation. Kassandra and I were seventeen, and we did everything together, but I thought of her as a sister or a cousin, nothing more."_

 _"What happened?"_

 _"Well, one afternoon, I woke up and found that my mother had taken Kassandra to town to do some shopping. I wasn't a fan of shopping, so they decided to let me sleep in. That was when I realized that Kassandra's mother, Karoline, had feigned a headache to stay there alone...with me."_

 _"Lincoln, what are you...?"_

 _"Please," he says, reaching out and taking my hands. "Please just let me tell the story, Edythe. Please." At my nod, he continues, "We had breakfast together, and everything was normal. Then she got a text from my mother saying that she and Kassandra had decided to see a movie and get lunch as well, so we would be alone longer. So, after a while, it got hot, so I decided to go for a swim. It was a beautiful oceanfront property, with no other homes around for a few miles—a truly isolated slice of Nantucket. Before I knew it, Karoline had come into the water to swim as well, which I thought was weird because of her headache. She swam out to me and then before I knew it, she had kissed me. She was married, and I'd always known that the notion of a homewrecker—especially after what my father had done—was unacceptable. I pulled away from her and went back into the house; I couldn't face her, or anything at all. Then she followed me into the house, said that she couldn't help herself, that she needed to be close to me. I told her that it was wrong—that all of it was wrong, but she just wouldn't listen to me. She said, when she started touching me, that I wanted it to happen, because I was responding," he says quietly, and lowers his eyes, tears falling out of his eyes. "She said that I was doing it to her, and that my mother would never look or talk to me again if I ever told anyone what we did... I said 'no' and 'stop' more times in my life on that day than I ever did, but it didn't help... Then, when I got an opportunity, I called my father, and he came to escort me back—no explanation whatsoever. I never said anything, because, until I met you, I thought it was all my doing..." He whispers, and then proceeds to sob like a small boy._

 _"No, no, no," I said quickly, throwing my arms around him. "It was not your fault —not any of it!" I feel my own tears falling down my face, and I find that I never want to let him go. "I'm so, so sorry," I whisper, and pull back to look at him, and he is staring at me more openly than he ever has in our years together._

 _I don't know if I can explain what happened next—I don't even think Lincoln could either. His mouth was on mine within a moment, and we were wrapped in each other's arms in that same moment. We didn't make it to the bed—we made love right there on the floor. It was the most bittersweet love we had ever made, yet I had the rug burns upon my back to prove our passion. We probably would have stayed tangled up in each other the whole evening, if it weren't for my phone going off close to dawn._

 _"Don't get it," Lincoln begged._

 _I raised myself up and kissed him gently. "Have to," I replied simply, seeing Amanda's number popping up on my caller I.D. and immediately accepting the phone call. "Amanda?"_

 _"Hey, Edythe—did I wake you?"_

 _"No, no, I've kind of been fading in and out," I reply, untangling myself fully from Lincoln and motioning for him to get into bed. "One minute," I mouth to him, raising my eyebrows up and down so as he knows how absolutely serious I am being with him._

 _"Just wanted to keep you posted on Mad Dog."_

 _Immediately, I am all ears. "Yes. Please. Amanda, have you found the boys? Is everything okay?"_

"Yes, everything's fine. I wanted you to be the first to know that Carisi and Darcy have located Mad Dog."

"They have?" I whisper, the hope prevalent in my voice.

"They have," Amanda assures me. "They boys were recovered about half an hour ago, and your parents should be arriving shortly to pick them up."

"Oh, thank god," I whisper.

"Will Lincoln be wanting to oversee Mad Dog's case?" Amanda asks. "Although we really should be calling him Lewis Monroe at this point..."

I turn to Lincoln. "Do you want the Mad Dog case?" I whisper.

"Of course I want to prosecute that low-life bastard who threatened my family," he replies heatedly.

"That would be a yes from my DA husband," I tell Amanda.

"Okay, I'll make a note of it," she replies. "All right—you deserve a restful weekend, Edythe. I don't expect to hear a peep out of you until Monday morning —is that understood?"

"Loud and clear, captain."

"Goodnight, Edythe."

"Goodnight, Amanda," I reply, hanging up on her and climbing into bed with Lincoln, feeling a rush of delight as he puts an arm around me. "Are you tired?" I ask him.

He turns over to look at me. "Maybe, but just of our hectic schedules. When do you think you'll want to hang up the gun?"

I sigh and shake my head. "Not yet."

"Why not yet?"

I lean in to kiss him. "Because my work's not done," I reply simply. "All of this is like a dance in the dark—motherhood, fostering, the job, all of it. But that's what life's all about, right? We all just have to find our dance."

"But...one could master plenty of dances in their lives..."

I raise my eyebrows. "Of course."

He smiles, pulling me full-length against him. "Maybe there's one dance that needs to be done together."

"Then, that brings up the final question," I reply.

"Which is?"

I lean forward, gently nibbling him upon the neck. "Who's going to lead?"


	16. Ties That Bind

Chapter Sixteen: Ties That Bind

After spending way too much money on Leia and getting her the latest Mercedes she had been obsessed with for approximately eight months, I spent the rest of the weekend helping Owen and Chelsea settling in. As for Livi, she had managed not to destroy the guest house, and I had rewarded her with sending for her things from Mom and Dad's house to make the place feel homier to her. I was pleased that Lincoln had secured a probation officer for her, and I was pleased when Frieda arrived bright and early on Sunday morning to discuss the terms of Livi's probation, all of which we agreed to.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" Carisi asked me as I arrived at eight o'clock on Monday morning to the squad room.

"Let me see—I officially have four teenagers in my house, one pre-teen, and two elementary school aged children. I officially have too many children," I say, and shoot him a smile.

Carisi chuckles. "Well, I do have some good news for you."

"Yeah?" I ask, putting my things down on my desk, directly across from his to signify our hierarchy within the squad. "What's that?"

"Mad Dog's been in hold-up for the weekend."

"Paperwork get misfiled?"

"You could say that," Carisi replied before taking his hand and exposing his neck, hidden beneath the collar of his button-down shirt. "Son of a bitch bit me when Darcy and I went in for him on Saturday morning."

I let out a gasp. "You've got to be kidding me!" I cry out, turning to Darcy's desk, and seeing that she's not there for the first time. "Where's Darce?"

"You'd better sit down for this," he says, and I perch on the end of my desk. "Mad Dog went a little crazy when we went in for the boys."

"Please tell me he didn't shoot her," I say in a rush.

"No," Carisi says. "He did do a number on her, though. Amanda didn't want to tell you over the phone."

"What happened?"

"He managed to kick her pretty good," he replied. "Broke two of her ribs and splintered a third one. She won't be back for six weeks or so."

"Dammit—poor Darce," I say, shaking my head. "I hope Carter's on hand for her to demand things of," I joke, mentioning Darcy's live-in boyfriend.

"Carter actually popped the question the other night at the hospital," Carisi replied with a smile. "Apparently, Dr. Carter Hope, OB-GYN, witnessed the miracle of life so many times—and how short it can be—so he asked Darcy to be his wife, and she said yes."

"Wow, that's great for them," I say, smiling at Carisi before briefly glancing at some of the files on my desk. "So, where's Mad Dog? I'm tempted to give him a piece of my mind... Remind me where that piece is given ends and police brutality begins, would you?"

Carisi hides his smile and leads me through the squad room, but unexpectedly walks into the hallway and towards an empty office. He opens the door, and says in an enthusiastic voice, "Paulo, I got you a live one!"

Paulo pops his head out from behind a screen. "Edythe, darling, it's been too-too long!" he cries, stepping forward and throwing his arms around me. Paulo had hardly changed a bit, save for the light crow's feet around his eyes and some streaks of silver in his hair. He looks me over. "Darling, you look gorgeous—what have you been doing?"

"Nothing—just a lot of work and motherhood," I reply.

"Paulo's on loan from Homicide," Carisi explains. "Amanda called your mother just yesterday and asked for a favor."

"What kind of favor?" I ask.

"I'm going to make you over," Paulo says. "I'm going to take fifteen years off you, honey, and then I'm going to dress you up like someone who could pass for Mad Dog's girls," he tells me. "I'm going to make you up! That way, maybe Mad Dog will talk to you."

I sigh. "Well, you're the professional," I reply. I am immediately put into his salon chair, and Paulo promptly flat-irons my hair before putting on age-defying makeup and highlights my eyes and lips. I am then pulled upwards and am put in skinny jeans, a skin-tight camisole, a leather jacket and boots, and a silver cross necklace is put around my neck.

"How do you feel?" Paulo asks.

"My eyes feel...heavier," I admit. "And my lips feel...odd."

"It's my mascara and eye-liner," Paulo explains, taking me out from behind the screen and showing me off to Carisi. "What do you think?" he asks him.

"You don't look a day over sixteen." Carisi says, smiling.

I roll my eyes at him, clearing my throat. "If I had a gun right now, mister, I'd blow your freaking head off," I growl at him.

Carisi throws back his head and laughs. "Amazing! Keep doing that," he says with amusement in his voice before taking out his handcuffs. "Now, I'm going to handcuff you and take you to the cell where Mad Dog is," he says, while Paulo hides a wire on the belt loop of my jeans. "Get all the information you can. Once you've done, all you got say to Mad Dog is, 'I'm gonna wait for my lawyer now', and I'll get you out of there, saying that your lawyer is here, and then I'll take you back here so that Paulo can turn you back to yourself. Got it?"

"Loud and clear, boss," I reply.

"Good," Carisi says, thanking Paulo one more time before we head out into the hallway and back towards the line of cells which are all empty, save for the first one. "Hey, Mad Dog!" Carisi yells, smacking at the cell. "Wake up! You got company!" Carisi turns to me then and says, "That all right with you?"

"Cállate y déjame dormir," Mad Dog says from the other side of the cell, a whine at the back of his tone.

He nods. "I'll be at my desk if he gives you any trouble," Carisi says, unlocking the cell door, and my handcuffs, before pushing me inside and walking off, leaving me alone with Livi's pimp.

"Gee, thanks," I say over my shoulder before turning fully to Mad Dog. "Hey, Mad Dog!" I shout at him, closing the distance between us. "What are you supposed to do for fun around here?!"

Mad Dog lazily opens one eye and gets to his feet. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with his dark hand, and raises his chocolate-brown eyes to mine. "You one of those teenagers turning tricks?" he asks, looking me up and down.

I give him a tight smile. "You bet—and I'm pretty good, too. And I'm trained physically to take down Wall Street workers. One false move, and I could have them paying me child support checks out the nose."

"Maldita estas muchachas están consiguiendo más jóvenes," Mad Dog mutters to himself.

"Amigo, no hables de mí como si no supiera cosas," I reply defensively, without missing a beat.

Mad Dog's eyes widen then. "¿Entiendes lo que estoy diciendo?"

"Más de lo que sabes," I tell him. "But if it's all the same to you, maybe we should continue our discussion in English."

Mad Dog sighs. "Whatever you want—what'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't," I reply. "It's Marie. Marie Wells."

"Good to meet you, Marie," he says, getting to his feet. "How old are you? You look real young..."

"I'm sixteen," I reply, defense mode activated again.

He looks me up and down. "Very nice," he replies, and I could spit in his face for how disgusting he sounds.

I step even closer to him, giving him what I think is an alluring smile. "You have a gang, Mad Dog?" I ask him, innocent.

He grins down at me. "Sure do."

"Huh," I say quietly.

"Do you?"

I shake my head. "No. Not anymore. My daddy was killed in a knife fight before my mama made us move outta Chicago," I say, crossing my fingers that he doesn't know anyone there. "Being in New York is fine, but..."

"But what?" he asks, hanging on my every word.

"But I don't know nobody," I reply, feeling inferior by speaking this way. I reach up then, one hand twisting my long hair around my fingers, the second coming to rest on his worn leather jacket. "What's a girl gotta do to fit in with your crew?" I ask him softly.

He smiles. "You sure you wanna know?"

I nod, smiling slowly up at him. "Yeah, I wanna know." I step even closer to him, so as my chest is lightly pressed up against his pecks. "I'm not shy—I know a few tricks..."

His smile widens. "Really?"

"Yeah—wanna see?" I ask him.

Mad Dog smiles, reaching down and unabashedly groping one of my breasts, then the other. "Not yet," he says quietly.

"Well, then, tell me about your crew—how you deal with discipline," I say softly, keeping my face innocent. "Big, strong guy like you—he shouldn't have to keep his bitches in line like that," I say, running my hands over his muscles. "One word from you should mean that they listen, right?"

Mad Dog scoffs. "You'd think so," he replies, "but it doesn't always happen that way. Some of my girls won't listen, so I have Little Diego or Santiago rough 'em up for me."

I turn slightly towards the squad room and lock eyes with Carisi, before I give him a slight nod, which he returns. I step closer still to Mad Dog, gripping onto his arm and widening my eyes, before slowly forcing myself to smile at him once again, and feeling utterly sick about it. "Little Diego and Santiago—they must have last names, right?"

"Diego Garcia and Santiago Hernandez," he replies.

 _Sing, baby bird, sing_ , I think to myself. "Are they both in charge now, now that you're locked up in here?" I ask him.

He chuckles. "Yeah, you could say that."

I smile up at him, knowing what Marie would have to do to seal the deal. "Maybe once I get out of here, I can work for you," I reply, lowering my hand so that its hovering to the area in between his legs. "If you'd like that."

"I would," he replies, grabbing my wrist, hard. "But I won't let you."

"And why not?" I ask him.

Suddenly, he grabs me, full force, and shoves me up against the bars. "Because I know you's a lady cop!" he screams in my face. "I know you's only here to get answers about your little sister and brother! I know you's here about me and Little Diego and Santiago teaching them boys a backdoor lesson!" Immediately, I pull away from Mad Dog and get him in a headlock, slamming him down, hard, on the cement floor of the cell. "Oh, really?" I ask him, and hear him gasping in shock from below me. "Well, I'd really love you to tell me more—after I arrest you on two additional charges of rape, and after we manage to track down Little Diego and Santiago, and save the likely dozens of women you've kept under lock and key," I say, deathly silent as I rise to my feet, kicking him in the ribs before Carisi unlocks the cell door. "Let's book this son of a bitch," I mutter to him before walking down the hallway for Paulo to turn me back to me.

I return home later that afternoon, completely exhausted from the hell of a day I'd officially had. After booking Mad Dog on additional charges—and after calling Lincoln to promote Livi to star witness so as she could be granted immunity—I arrived home at five-thirty on the dot. Leia, Owen, and Chelsea were doing a show at school, and wouldn't be home for another three hours while Livi had managed to stay out of trouble for the entire day as we awaited the transfer paperwork for the new private school for her. Lincoln had worked in his home office and had played daddy that day, and Felicity, Fin, and Hunter were still in one piece.

"Hey, I'm home!" I called, stepping into the front hallway and waiting to see who would grace me with their presence first.

"Hey, Mom!" called Felicity, stepping in from the living room and pocketing her cell phone. "Glad you're home," she said, throwing her arms around me.

"Well, thank you, sweetheart," I reply, momentarily hugging her back. "It's good to be home. Now, do you know where your brothers are?"

"Dad let Fin spend the night at Pete's house," Felicity replies, naming Fin's best friend, Pete Abernathy. "And Hunter's in bed already."

"At five-thirty on a school night?" I ask her.

She nods. "Yeah—he has that star-gazing class later tonight, the one you and Dad said could use the gazebo and surrounding areas. He's taking a four-hour nap before everyone arrives. Thompson left snacks in the fridge."

I smile, running my hands briefly through her hair. "Please tell me your father is in his office," I say to her.

"Yeah, he should be," she replies. "Oh, and Harriet's having her annual sleepover party on Saturday night. I get to go, right?"

I smile at her; Harriet Hawthorne had been best friends with Felicity since the first grade, after Harriet had moved to New York from Texas. "And do you remember the sleepover rules?"

"Yeah," Felicity replies, scoffing a bit. "Parents have to be there—and Mr. Hawthorne has a business trip but Mrs. Hawthorne will be there all night, plus her sister Mrs. Francis is in town, too, and will be over there. The second rule is that we respect the house, the family members, the friends we'll be there with, and ourselves."

I nod. "That's right, sweetie. And remember to take everything you need—sleeping bag, cell phone charger, flashlight, and maybe an extra pair of pajamas just in case..."

"Mom, I know," Felicity says, slightly impatient. "Can I go RSVP to Harriet's party now?"

I nod. "Yes, sweetie, you can," I reply, pulling her to me and kissing her on the cheek before gently pushing her back into the living room and making my way down the hallway. I walk towards Lincoln's office then, hearing him wrapping up a phone conversation with Mrs. Davies, an elderly widow that he was close with and had handled her will five years ago. She had come to our Christmas parties since then, and had always been made a part of the family since her husband had passed away.

"Yes, Mrs. Davies, I'm getting plenty of rest—well, it's not easy with four teenagers in the house, and three other kids running around on top of that. Well, there's Leia, of course, and now we're fostering twins, and Edythe's younger sister, Livi, is staying with us for a while. Yes, she's just wonderful with all of them," Lincoln says, a look of love entering his eyes as I move directly into his view. "I am looking at her as we speak; yes, I think she just got in. All right, thank you for that, Mrs. Davies. Yes, I'll send her your love. Talk to you soon. Have a good evening," he says, hanging up the phone. "What?" he asks, giving me that smile that was a considerable plus when it came to falling in love with him in the beginning.

I bite my lip, before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me. "I don't know, I just..."

"What?" he asks, getting to his feet. "Are you okay? Was work all right?" he asks, stepping forward and around his desk. "Please tell me that Rollins and Carisi weren't too hard on you today," he says, gently putting his hands on my forearms with a look of concern in his eyes.

I shake my head. "No. No, it's not that."

"What is it?" he asks, gently putting his arms around me, continuing to stare into my eyes. "Come on, baby. I hardly think communication is something that's going to die between us."

I stand on my toes, placing my forehead onto his. "No, it's not, I'm sorry," I say softly, finding my smile again. "I just don't know how much more of this I can take..."

"What do you mean?"

"Work is really exhausting," I say, the tears pricking at the back of my eyes. "I'm a legacy kid, Lincoln—I guess I thought at one point or another that I was obligated to pick a career in law enforcement. But I never counted on loving it as much as I do. And I love it, Lincoln—I really, really love it."

"Then, why are you crying?" he asks, his hands leaving the small of my back to cup my cheeks. "Why are you crying, baby? If you love your job so much, then why are you so sad?"

I sigh, wanting desperately to wipe my tears before Lincoln does so for me with his helpful thumbs. "I'm crying because it'll never be enough," I whisper.

"What will never be enough?"

I shake my head, lowering my eyes. "No matter how well I do in this job, none of it will ever make much of a difference in the long-run. Of course, we at SVU save countless lives every day—not just Manhattan, but Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, everywhere with every division. But I just can't shake the fact that there will always be someone—a victim, on their way to being a survivor—who doesn't make it out in time, one that we can't save. And then the perpetrator vanishes into anonymity and we'll never catch them..."

Lincoln pulls me full length against him then, running his hand through my hair and down my back. "Darling, you can't like that," he tells me softly, and I know he is right. "You can't ever let yourself think that way. What if you or another one of the SVU team thought that way, and you missed the signs of someone calling you for help?" he asks.

I shudder. "I'd hate to think what would have happened to me if Mom hadn't found me that day," I say softly. "And Liv and Detective Stabler... God, I don't want to think of what would've happened..."

Lincoln tightens his grip on me. "Never," he replies.

I turn slightly, inhaling his scent, and feeling at peace. "This," I whisper to him, feeling secure in his embrace. "This, right here."

"What?" he asks.

I raise my head, locking my eyes with his. "This is why I married you," I tell him quietly. "You never sway in your devotion of love or need to protect me—or the rest of our family, Lincoln. I know that it's crazy sometimes, our life together, but I know you'll always be there for me to lean on. And I am so thankful that I found you and that you found me..."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss me. "I'm so thankful that you said yes to my marriage proposal," he replies.

I let out a soft chuckle. "I'm just glad that you agreed on a justice of the peace," I reply.

He nods. "Anything for you, Edythe Isabelle Beckett."

I walked down the cobblestone path towards the justice of the peace; standing just to his right was Lincoln, dapper in his tuxedo. The bride side was to the left, and the grooms' was to the right; Gina was to stand on my other side, while Henrietta and Noelle stood together. Livi and Leia stood together, rapt, watching me walk down the aisle with my father; Jensen stood proudly beside Lincoln, Fairfield and Thompson just beside him, while all eyes were glued to me. However, I didn't catch any of their looks, as I was completely sidetracked by Lincoln, who smiled at me as I stepped closer.

I turned to my father for the last time as we stepped towards Lincoln, and smile up at him as he leans down, lifting my veil and kissing me on the cheek. We turn to Lincoln, and he hands my hand over to his, and the moment my hand meets his, all my anxiety leaves me. I give a final smile to my father then before walking closer to the justice of the peace, and Lincoln never takes his hand from mine as we smile at this kind man, dressed in a lovely suit for the occasion.

After waiting for our looks of encouragement to begin, he does. "We are gathered here today to bring together Lincoln Matthew Beckett and Edythe Isabelle Grayson in marriage," he says, smiling at each of us in turn. "Lincoln, please repeat after me," he continues. "I, Lincoln Beckett..."

"I, Lincoln Beckett..."

"Take thee, Edythe Grayson..."

"Take thee, Edythe Grayson..."

"As my wedded wife," the justice says.

"As my wedded wife," Lincoln replies, squeezing my hands.

"To have and to hold from this day forward..."

"To have and to hold from this day forward..."

"For better, for worse..."

"For better, for worse..."

"For richer, for poorer..."

"For richer, for poorer..."

"In sickness, and in health..."

"In sickness, and in health," Lincoln says, and his smile sets me completely at ease in that moment.

"To love and to cherish..."

"To love and to cherish..."

"As long as we both shall live," the justice finishes.

"As long as we both shall live," Lincoln replies.

"Now, Edythe, please repeat after me," the justice says. "I, Edythe Grayson..."

"I, Edythe Grayson..."

"Take you, Lincoln Beckett..."

"Take you, Lincoln Beckett..."

"To be my husband."

"To be my husband," I reply, basking in the warm glow I felt at being stared at by none other than the man of my dreams.

"I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad..."

"I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad..."

"In sickness and in health..."

"In sickness and in health..."

"I will love and honor you all the days of my life."

"I will love and honor you all the days of my life," I reply.

"May I have the rings, please?" the justice of the peace asks.

Gina and Jensen step forward and hand over the rings.

"Your rings by their very shape are symbols of eternal unity, without beginning or end. They are the emblem of the love that exists between you and Edythe, and characterize your devotion to one another. Let them always remind you of the commitments you make here today."

Lincoln takes my wedding ring and turns to me, hope and a lightness to his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Edythe, with this ring, I promise to grow with you and build our love, to speak openly and honestly, to listen to you, and to love and to cherish you for all the days ahead. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. With this ring, I thee wed," he says, and slips it onto my finger.

I take Lincoln's ring from the justice, its platinum heavy and cool in my hand, and turn to Lincoln. "Lincoln, with this ring, I promise to grow with you and build our love, to speak openly and honestly, to listen to you, and to love and to cherish you for all the days ahead. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter and my arms will be your home. With this ring, I thee wed," I finish, slipping the ring onto his finger.

The justice of the peace smiles mightily at the two of us, looking like a cockerel of some kind. "Being assured that you are aware of the meaning of this ceremony, I will now ask you to repeat the marriage vows. Do you, Lincoln Beckett, take this woman, Edythe Grayson, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and cherish her through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Lincoln replies.

"And do you, Edythe Grayson, take Lincoln Beckett to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor and cherish him through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," I reply.

"By the act of joining hands, you take to yourself the relation of husband and wife and solemnly promise to love, honor, comfort, and cherish each other so long as you both shall live. therefore, in accordance with the law of the State of New York, I do pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Lincoln stepped forward, cupped my face in his hands for a brief moment and leaned down to kiss me. Immediately, my heart was I my throat as I stood on the tips of my toes and threw my arms around his neck. Nothing could stop us from the inevitable, I realized then, and I was more than happy then to be named as Lincoln's lawfully wedded wife.

"Ladies and gentleman, it is my privilege to introduce to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett!" the justice of the peace said.

We turned to the crowd of well-wishers then—family and friends alike—and I felt the weight of the ring upon my finger, but it was a good weight. As I broke away from Lincoln to embrace my parents, Gina, Livi, Donnie, Mason, Henrietta, Leia, Noelle, and everyone else who thought I owed them a hug. I embraced Olivia and she told me that Don wanted to be there but he couldn't manage to get away. I held Fin to me longest, for he was so close to my own mother that he had become quite like an uncle to me.

The reception seemed to fly by so quickly, and soon Lincoln and I were rushed up to our designated rooms with our own wedding parties to change. I was put into a comfortable skirt, blouse, and wedge sandals before my bags were loaded properly into the waiting limo down below. I was pleased to have my hair taken down as I'd decided to wear it long for my trip to the cruise docks. My purse was handed over to me, filled with my passport, valid identification, lipstick, other forms of makeup, and anything and everything a young woman would need to go on a cruise. My mother, Livi, Gina, Noelle, Henrietta, and Leia all embraced me twofold, before my father entered the room to say goodbye.

"It's nearly an hour to the cruise docks," he says, mid-embrace, to me. "I know Jensen is steady on the road, sweetheart, but I want you safe."

I roll my eyes. "I will be safe, Dad, don't worry," I reply. I turn then at the sound of the door opening, and Lincoln stands there, grinning at me.

"Jensen's already downstairs, and everyone wants to say goodbye," he says, and waits for me to embrace my father one last time.

I cross the room towards him, feeling secure in his embrace, and feel the goose bumps rising on my body when he leans down to kiss me. "Ready to go?" I ask him, crossing my fingers that the answer will be 'yes'.

"When you are," he assures me. The pair of us walk arm in arm down the long corridor, before going down the grand staircase and making our way down the main steps and outside. It is only around eight p.m., and it is still light out as we walk from our place at the start of the procession and towards the waiting limo. Jensen rolls down the front window and tips his hat to us, while Fairfield waves from the passenger seat; they would be accompanying us on the cruise, although were encouraged to take the time to have fun as well.

I embrace Thompson, his husband, and their children before turning back towards my wedding party. I give a final hug to my parents, Gina, Noelle, Henrietta, Livi, Donnie, Mason, Leia, and Olivia and Fin. Finally, Lincoln and I pick up our hands and wave to the well-wishers, who shout phrases from 'good luck' to 'happy travels' as we pile into the limo. Shutting the door behind us, we take off down the path towards the exit of the grounds, before Jensen honks at the property line. Then we turn and drive towards the freeway, back to Manhattan, as the sun begins its slow decline in the sky.

"Do anything fun for the summer?" Amanda asks me as I begin organizing my desk one sunny day in the second week of September. "I hope you took the kids somewhere fun... Or was that against regulations?" she asks. "I'm not as well-versed as I should be when it comes to kids in the foster system..."

I flash her a smile. "Not many people are, without the credentials and all that," I reply with a slight chuckle, putting my planner and notepad front and center near my computer. "And, yeah—we took them somewhere. I let Lincoln take the reins on this trip. I had no idea where we were going or what we were doing, but it was guaranteed to be fun, he assured me."

"And you took Owen and Chelsea with you?"

I nod. "Of course—they'd been with us for a couple of weeks at the time, and it would have been cruel not to." I place my photographs on the desk—all new school pictures of the kids, plus one from our vacation to Michigan's Adventure, the largest amusement and water park in that state. "All the kids had the best time, especially Chelsea and Felicity," I tell Amanda as she peeks over my shoulder at the photograph.

"Hmmm," she says.

"Something wrong?" I ask, peering at the photograph. "If it shouldn't be on my desk, I understand, but I'd like to know why..."

She shakes her head. "Nothing like that—just something..."

"What?" I ask, pressing her. "Tell me."

She sighs. "I don't know—something about the way that Leia and Owen are posed together," she says, nodding at the photograph. "Are you sure that something isn't going on between them?"

I laugh at that—something going on between Leia and Owen?! That was complete and utter nonsense! "No, of course not," I say, shaking my head. "Owen is a perfect gentleman, Amanda, I assure you."

She bites her lip. "Okay," she says, "just be careful. I've known of a few families in the past who either didn't know or didn't care that one of their kids was dating a foster kid."

"What happened?" I ask, curious.

"The kids got taken away and their license got revoked," Amanda replies simply, turning back towards her office. "I'm not trying to make either Leia or Owen look bad—I just know how dedicated you are to fostering kids. I'd hate to see it go south for you or for Lincoln."

I nod at Amanda. "Well, I appreciate your concern. But I assure you—nothing to my better knowledge is going on."

She nods. "Okay. I hope everything works out," she tells me, heading into her office as Carisi steps in there to speak with her.

With Darcy now halfway through her first pregnancy, we were going to be having interviews for some new recruits now that the squad season was starting again, as it were. We were swamped with new cases almost daily, and it was always difficult not to trip up certain details about particular cases. We had to be constantly on our toes, not knowing who or what was going to call us, let alone walk in through our squad doors.

There were more days than not that went by that I missed Olivia; not only was she my grandmother, but she was my mentor. And then there was Fin, whom I'd named my son for, who was my sworn protector when it came right down to it. He had protected and shielded Amanda from all he was able to do when she first began at SVU, and he did the same for me as time went on. I would forever be indebted to both of them for their assistance towards me.

My reverie was broken when my phone rang and I promptly moved to pick it up, thinking a new case would be on the other end. "Beckett," I said.

"Edythe, it's me."

At once, I sat up in my seat. "Mom?" I asked.

"Hi, sweetheart. I need you to listen to me right now," she says softly into the receiver. "Tell Amanda that you just got an emergency call and that you need to leave the squad."

"Mom, I can't just leave..."

"And whatever you do, _don't_ tell them where you're going."

"Where am I...?"

"Homicide," she replies. "I need you to get here as quickly as possible. Don't stop to talk, don't stop to think. Get down here right now. Oh... And don't even think about bringing your gun, or talk to anyone. They've..." She lets out a muffled sound of pain as she is smacked in the head, presumably, with something hard. "I have just been informed that they've got eyes on you," she says quietly. "So, you just need to tell Amanda that you need to leave; and don't you dare tell them where you're going. Hurry, please, Edythe..."

"Mom, I..." I say. "Edythe, listen to your mother."

"Who is this?" I demand then, my hairs rising automatically on my arms as I try and fail to place the voice.

"You know who it is."

"Obviously I don't!" I fire back, attempting to keep my tone in check. "Just let me talk to my mother..."

"You mother is in fine hands," says a second voice. "Do as we say, and she can go free."

"You're using her as a bartering chip?!" I demand, and am promptly greeted with a dial tone. Immediately, I get to my feet and knock on Amanda's office door, and let myself in.

"Edythe? Are you okay?" she asks, noting my shaking.

"Yeah, fine great. Listen, Lincoln just called me," I say, flashing a smile that radiated sympathy as I lied through my teeth.

"Everything okay?" Carisi asks.

I nod at him. "Yeah, of course," I reply. "It's just that he's just been called in on this confidential case and he says that Hunter's complaining of a stomach bug," I say, mentally crossing my fingers that they'll believe me. "All our help has the week off, so they can't step in and all the other kids are in school. I know it's a long-shot, but Lincoln asked if I could please be let off work to go and tend to Hunter immediately."

Amanda smiles at me in understanding. "Family is important," she says. "If you need to go, then go. Carisi and I got it."

I nod at them both, relief causing my cheeks to flood with color. "Thank you!" I shout a little too loudly before forcing myself to walk through the office door, out into the squad room, and down the hallway.

I make it down to the parking garage and to my car, whereupon I drive out of there and onto the main street. I drive the few city blocks and make my way to the Homicide parking garage, parking in one of the guest spots and heading directly upstairs. I don't stop to talk; I don't stop to speak; I don't do anything but walk through the door, where I am staring at the barrel of a gun.

"Hello, Edythe," said the sticky-sweet voice, immediately sending chills down my spine as it enters my ears. "Remember me?"

Peering around the gun, my eyes lock first with Ryder Knox, and secondly with his associate—who I remember is called Barry Karrows—the associate who was responsible for raping me. I force myself to stand my ground, as Barry is pointing his own gun at my mother, and I immediately deduce that both of them are high, due to their bloodshot eyes. Their drunkenness is apparent as well, due to them wobbling ever so slightly on their feet.

"What are you doing here?" I ask them levelly. "How in the hell did either of you crawl out from the rat hole you created for yourselves?"

"Come now, Edythe," says a third voice, this time from behind me, lurking in the shadows behind the door. "Don't greet your old friends that way."

"My old friends?" I ask. "What old friends?" I want to know, turning ever so slightly, where my eyes meet with the torturer who started it all. "Jake," I whisper, forcing my voice not to raise an octave. "So, it's you who's been behind all this all along?" I ask him, softly. "Why? Why would you singlehandedly wish to ruin every part of my life?"

"Because you told on me," Jake says simply, rather like a child would.

"She did the right thing, and you know it, you bastard," my mother growls at him, like a proper lioness would, protecting her cub.

"Silence her," Jake says, nodding to Barry.

"You're not going to touch her," I say softly.

Jake cocks an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asks.

I smile a small smile. "You're not going to touch any of us."

He chuckles, and his cronies all chuckle with him. "And how do you propose to accomplish such a feat?"

Immediately, when they're distracted, I draw my gun. Next, I kick all three of them in their boys, sending them doubling over. Then, I kick their guns away from them, and it is then that I notice that my mother is tied to her chair. "Gimme a minute, there, Mom," I say, grabbing her handcuffs and a spare from her desk. When I see that my would-be prisoners are attempting to move, I kick all three in their ribs, leaving them to groan in pain again. "You see, boys," I say to them, handcuffing them quickly as the door bursts open. "I'm not a very obedient girl," I say, flashing smiles to Amanda and Carisi as they troop in, hauling the three of them to their feet. "But that's something you knew already."

"We'll take care of these creeps," Carisi says.

"Thanks for using the signal, Edythe," Amanda tells me.

"Signal?!" sputters Jake.

"Just raising my eyebrows dramatically," I reply, doing it for him before untying my mother from her chair. "Did they hurt you?" I ask her, looking her over as I help her to her feet. "Are you all right?"

Immediately, she throws her arms around me, sobbing. "I'm so sorry," she says softly to me. "I never should've said those things. I love you so much, sweetheart, and that'll never change.

"Thanks, Mom," I reply. "I love you, too."

"Always..." She whispers.

"Mom, behind you!" I scream, as Jake manages to escape from Amanda's hold on him and charges through the door. "Mom!" I scream a second time, as, in a flash, he grabs her gun and as it goes off—three times into her back. I feel my mother go limp in my arms, her blood seeping through my fingers, as I let out a scream and as Amanda fires two shots at point blank range, killing Jake instantly as Carisi's back-up arrives, hauling Ryder and Barry away from the scene. "Mom," I whisper, my voice barely above a whisper as I let her go, her lifeless eyes staring back at me, and I know then that I have lost something great that day.

"Liv!" I scream the moment Olivia joins me in the hospital hallway. I throw my arms around her, thanking god that I'd methodically washed my mother's blood off my hands earlier that day. Olivia held me as I sobbed, and I know full well that she will want her own moment to say goodbye. We stayed that way for a long time, before I let her go to say her goodbyes to my mother. My father stepped out of the room, his face etched with sorrow and age, and I didn't know how he would react to me standing there.

A mere moment passed before he closed the distance between us and threw his arms around me, enveloping me in a crushing embrace. "It'll never be the same without her," he whispers into my hair. "We never had enough time... If only I wasn't as committed as I was to my work..."

"Dad, don't blame yourself—you can't," I whisper back to him, my eyes blinding me with tears. Peeking over his shoulder, I see Lincoln running around the corner, and my father turns at the sound of my husband's feet on the floor. Turning, he gives him an embrace before turning to re-join Olivia with my mother's body in the hospital morgue. Without saying a word, I cross to Lincoln, throwing my arms around him and just sobbing in the dimming lights of the hospital.

When I finally manage to get ahold of myself, we return home, arriving there shortly before ten o'clock that evening. All the children—save for Leia, Owen, and Chelsea—are asleep, and I am grateful for that fact. I know what I want to say, but cannot manage to form the words to say it. I store up my thoughts and feelings for the next week, after my mother is buried on my family's property, and after we return home after the wake. Leia, Owen, Chelsea, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter all head upstairs as we walk in, I motion for Lincoln to follow me into the living room. I shut the doors behind me—just in case one of more of our children decided to take the opportunity to eavesdrop—and turn to him in the darkness, and sigh a little before speaking.

"I want you to listen to me, Lincoln, and I want you to listen to me now. I don't want you interrupting me. Okay?"

He nods. "Okay."

I sigh then, a second time, feeling utterly unsure of how to go about this. "I don't want you thinking that this is fully because of my mother's...death," I whisper, new tears falling from my eyes as I say that word. "Remember how wonderful our trip this summer was?"

Lincoln smiles, his eyes red-rimmed. "Yes," he replies.

I reach out and take him by the hands. "What would you say if I told you I wanted to make that family unit...permanent?"

Lincoln raises an eyebrow. "Permanent...?"

I smile at him through my tears. "I'm saying this, Lincoln—I want to adopt Owen and Chelsea. I want them to be our children—they are our children, I know you think that, too..."

He grins at me, fresh tears coming from his eyes. "Of course I think that, Edythe—more than anything." He pulls me to him, kissing me. "You're sure?"

I nod. "Yes, I'm sure," I reply fervently. "Life is short, and I don't want to go another day with the notion hanging over their head that we could send them away at any moment."

He nods. "I get it." He runs his fingers across my knuckles. "So..."

"So..."

His eyes rise to mine. "So, we're really doing this, then?"

I nod. "We're really doing this, then." Letting go of his hands, I cross over to the doors and open them, walking over to the stairs. "Owen? Chelsea? Would you both come downstairs, please?" I ask.

Owen and Chelsea troop downstairs, now changed out of their funeral clothes and in more sensible clothing for a Saturday at home. They perch on the couch as directed, looking directly at Lincoln and I. Something has transpired between them while upstairs, and I know full well that they suspect something.

"Edythe and I were just having a discussion," Lincoln says, his trait of speaking the obvious when nervous apparent.

"Lincoln and I have come to a decision," I say gently.

Owen sighs. "Are you getting rid of us?"

I blink. "What?"

"Getting rid of you?" Lincoln asks. "Why would you say that?"

"Important relative passes away, you're grieving," Owen continues. "You can't handle two extra kids—teenagers, no less—especially ones that aren't your own in the first place. We understand."

"That's not it at all," Lincoln replies, hurt.

"Listen, we love you— _both_ ," I say, and feel a bit more secure when Chelsea smiles at me. "We would like it if the both of you became a permanent part of the Beckett family. We would like to adopt both of you."

"Do the kids know?" Chelsea asks.

I nod. "Yes. They all know."

"They think it's wonderful," Lincoln assures them.

"So, what do you say?" I ask, looking from Chelsea to Owen. "Would you consent to being adopted by us?"

"Yes!" cries Chelsea, getting to her feet and throwing her arms around us both. "I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"Owen?" Lincoln asks, putting an arm around Chelsea. "Would you like to be adopted by us?"

A shadow passes over Owen's face then as he gets to his feet. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I don't object to you adopting Chelsea—in fact, I think it'll be good for her in the long-run. But, I'm sorry..." He shakes his head. "I don't want to be adopted. It's just not in the cards for me. I want to age out of the system without any ties, and I want to be free."

"But, Owen," I say, quietly, "you're family now."

He sighs. "I had a family," he replies. "It was probably the worst family in the State of New York, but it was a family nonetheless. If you want me to leave and to find my own place, I get it. I understand. I'll go, if that's what you want."

Lincoln sighs. "No. No, we don't want you to go. We won't adopt you, if that's what you want, but we want you to stay here with us, where it's safe."

Owen smiles slightly. "Thank you. Thank you both—for what you're doing for my sister, and for me. I knew she'd find a family, because that's what she wanted and needed."

"But what about your wants and needs?" I ask.

He sighs. "Everyone's are different," he replies simply, shrugging his shoulders before heading upstairs.


	17. Battle Cry

Chapter Seventeen: Battle Cry

Lincoln and I immediately applied to adopt Chelsea, and the paperwork was formally sent over a week later. I told Amanda and Carisi—via phone call, as I was told to take six weeks off from work so as to properly deal with my grief—about the adoption, and they were very supportive of us. Amanda was skeptical about us just adopting Chelsea, and questioned as to why we weren't adopting Owen, and I merely told her what he had told us. Even though Lincoln and I were devastated that Owen did not want to be formally part of our family, we knew it wouldn't be right to force him.

Livi's case was cleared up soon thereafter; as our star witness, she was granted immunity and was soon shipped off to Montana, where a lovely farming rehab center had been found for her. She would learn about the responsibilities of living on a farm in addition to her treatment, and would love and care for the horses as a metaphor for loving and caring for herself. It was emotional, saying goodbye to her so soon after our mother's death, but I know that it would all be good for her, to get away from all of the familiarity, and to experience new things.

I went to see my father about a week and a half after Livi had headed off to Montana to check up on him. I was shocked when I discovered the 'For Sale' sign in the yard, and immediately deduced that there were too many memories within the house which reminded him of Mom to stay. "Dad?" I called, letting myself inside and looking around. "Dad?"

"Hey, honey," he said, walking into the foyer from the kitchen and embracing me with a sad look on his face. "I take it you saw the sign."

"Pretty hard to miss," I say, setting my purse on the side table by the door. "What's going on? Where are the boys?"

"They're staying with Uncle Jay-Jay and Uncle Milo for a couple of weeks while I get everything settled. We're moving into the penthouse permanently in Manhattan come New Year's."

"Have you spoken to them about this?" I ask. "I mean, how will Donnie and Mason really feel, Dad? This house is all they've ever really known. Except for when you and Mom were separated back when I was in high school and we were all living there..."

"Don't talk about her, please, Edythe," he says, calmly yet firmly. "It's still a little much for me right now."

"Sorry..."

"Well, now that you're here, I'd really appreciate it if you went through your things from your childhood room," he tells me patiently. "I'll take care of the trash or items suitable to be donated. The things you want to keep, you'll have to figure out for yourself." He nods then, almost as if he's calculating a great many problems in his mind. "I've already put ready-made boxes and other cleaning supplies in your rooms. Don't worry about tidying up—the realtors have already hooked me up with a cleaning crew once this place goes on the market." He smiles, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. "I surprised your mom with this place just before our wedding—put a down-payment on it and everything, just because I knew how much she'd love it."

"Sounds like Lincoln took a page from your play book, then," I say softly. I reach out and run my fingers along the smooth paneling along the walls. "I love this style so much—so old-fashioned, yet so efficient."

"Over the years, I always thought you looked so much like her," my father said quietly, watching me as I looked around the house. "Little did we know that it was for one reason, one reason in particular."

I withdraw my hand from the wall, staring at the dark colored wood floor. "I've been meaning to discuss something with you. I've held off for as long as I can, but I need to tell you. I'm not asking for your permission; I'm not asking for your opinion. I just want you to know something."

"What?"

I raise my eyes to his. "I'm going to Rikers Island as soon as possible," I reply levelly. "I'm going to see Karissa." It was the first time I'd ever dared to say her name, outside the court testimony I'd been required to give once my mother was given the hard penalty of twenty to life for turning away from me while Jake hurt me. "Like I said, I'm not asking for your opinion or permission. I need some answers, which no one but her can give me."

My father runs his hands through his hair, the silver quickly overtaking its natural raven color. He had aged considerably since my mother's death a full month ago, and I knew that it would take a lot for him to feel young again. "I understand that you will want answers, Edythe. Answers that I cannot give you, no matter how much I may want to." He sighs. "I only ask you one thing—do you think you can do it for me?"

"What thing?" I ask him.

"Don't tell me about it," he says. "Until or unless I ask you to, in no uncertain terms do I wish to hear about your visit with your— With Karissa Gregory," he says pointedly. "Is that understood?"

I nod. "Yes, Dad."

"Good," he says, quickly leaving that subject behind as he briefly looks around the foyer. "Now, if you could please go upstairs and figure out what you want done with your bedroom, that would be amazing," he says, kissing my forehead briefly before returning to the kitchen.

"Dad?" I say, quickly going after him.

"What?" he asks.

"Stop walking and listen to me!" I cry out, my voice going an octave higher than usual. "Please! I can't do this!"

He stops walking before turning around to look at me. "I don't know what you expect me to do or say here, Edythe. That woman hurt you," he whispers, taking ahold of my shoulders. "That woman _hurt_ my baby! Please... She will think you're going to visit her to forgive her!"

"I am going to visit her because I want answers!" I cry out, feeling like a teenager again, especially standing in the kitchen like this. I lower my eyes, to the ground where Aunt Stella had beaten me. "God..."

"What?" he asks.

I raise my eyes to his. "I couldn't tell you... I'm so sorry, I couldn't tell you this—I was so ashamed..."

"What? Tell me what?"

"I know you know about me and Baxter..."

He sighs. "Against my better judgement—yes."

I shake my head. "Aunt Stella came to see me right after he died. She came here while you were gone..."

"While we were...? What?!" he demands.

"You were gone," I say simply. "I don't remember why—some vacation, or maybe you were undercover, I don't know!"

"What did she do to you?!" he cries.

"Beat me," I say softly.

"What did you do?"

"I let her."

My father shakes me then, for my eyes have dulled over and I soon find that he's woken me up from a daze. "Why?" he whispers. "Why would you let her do something like that?"

I shiver in his arms, more tears falling. "Because I felt like I deserved it," I whisper, shuddering.

My father volunteers to take the kids for the upcoming weekend—Chelsea and Owen, too, for he wants to get to know them as much as possible, even though we would be only adopting Chelsea. When I return back to the house on Friday afternoon after dropping them off, I make my way to the study immediately and shut and lock the door behind us, even though Thompson is off for the weekend and Jensen and Fairfield are in their quarters in the guest wing. Lincoln, who was working from home that day, gets to his feet, his eyes confused at my behavior as I let my purse drop as I approach him.

"Edythe, what are you—"

I merely shake my head at him, walking right up to him and throw my arms around him, kissing him with a kind of wanton passion that I believe had left my system after Baxter passed away. I then proceed to unbutton his shirt like there's no tomorrow, and feel a wave of pleasure wash through me then as he proceeds to tear my jacket and blouse off of me, whereupon I am gently thrown down upon his desk, and I feel a gasp escape through my lips.

"Are you all right?" he asks, looking down at me, panic in his eyes.

Promptly, before a moment in time has passed, I throw my arms around him all over again and continue to kiss him. I manage to unzip his pants as he loops his fingers into the waistband of my own pair of pants and gets them down around my ankles, which is where his own pants end up. I wrap my legs around his torso, pulling him closer and closer to me, and gasp when, a moment later, he enters me then and I find I never want this feeling to end.

"Wow..."

"What?" I ask Lincoln, turning over and looking at him. We had since left the study and had migrated upstairs, where we had made love twice more—once on the stairs and then again in bed. "All right?"

He laughs, shaking his head, his still-dark hair sticking to his forehead. "You're amazing, you know that?"

I shake my head, lowering my eyes, my lashes sweeping my flushed cheeks. "Oh, I don't know..."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Doubt yourself," he replies, weaving his fingers around mine. "You don't have to, Edythe, really. I love you."

I move onto my side, tucking my head between his head and his shoulder. "I know, and I'm glad, because I love you, too."

"You feeling okay?" he asks. "I know that I had my big deposition during the week and that we couldn't really touch base after you saw your dad... How's he doing? I know it can't be easy for him. I know that if, god forbid, anything happened to you, that I don't know what I'd do..."

I sigh, rising to a sitting position as I shake my head. "I don't know. It's not as easy to talk to him as it once was."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Mom was usually a buffer for the two of us," I reply. "I know he wasn't into the whole adoption idea..."

"How do you know that?"

I bite my lip. "Ryder taught me how to hack into their phones," I reply, and feel guilty about that fact all over again. "I was able to go back up towards three years —they were crazy-addicted to their jobs in the early days so they didn't do a phone upgrade until it was absolutely necessary..."

"Babe, I'm sorry—what are you saying?" he asks, leaning forward and placing a hand upon my shoulder.

I sigh, turning and locking eyes with him, my vision clouded by tears. "I'm saying that he didn't want me, Lincoln."

"What?" he demands. "How could you even think...?"

I shake my head at him. "I remember the text he sent to my mother clear as day—it was before they were married. I-I remember them communicating pretty much twenty-four seven when it came right down to it. They never wanted to be apart from each other..."

"What did the text message say, Edythe?"

I quickly dash the tears from my eyes. "My mom told him point blank, via text, that she would adopt me with or without him. His reply was, 'If it means losing you and adopting a kid who's probably damaged goods by now, then I think you've got my answer'."

"Well, what did your mom say to him?"

"She told him that he was never to call me that—and he didn't... But..."

"But what, Edythe? What is it?"

I lock eyes with him again. "But it was never the same as it was with Livi, or with the boys," I reply, my voice breaking. "I was never this golden child, one that needed to be worshiped... I know it wasn't the same for him, because I wasn't his biological child, but it still hurt..."

Lincoln immediately throws his arms around me. "Edythe, I want you to listen to me," he says firmly, pulling back and taking my face in his hands. "You're _not_ worthless—you're everything. You're everything to me, and I need you to know that. You and the kids, this family—it's everything. I wouldn't change a thing about any of it."

"You have no idea how much I love you right now," I whisper, closing the distance between us and kissing him. "I want you—forever."

"Back at you, babe," he replies, and we become lost in between the sheets once more that evening.

I keep quiet about my plan to go and see my biological mother for a few weeks, and return to work on a Monday four weeks later. I had managed to make the drive without sobbing my head off—and my eyes had managed to stay dry for a full two days. I walk into the squad room, dressed to the nines in one of my trademark black suits, and many of my fellow officers and detectives get to their feet as soon as I enter, giving me pats on the back or—if we were closer—an embrace here and there. I smile and thank them all for their condolences, before heading over to my desk and feeling pleased that another sergeant hadn't been called in during my grief period to replace me.

"Hey, Serge," Carisi says, stepping forward and embracing me. "Good to have you back—Captain says you could take more personal days, you know."

"Oh, dear—I know what that means," I say, draping my jacket over the back of my chair and setting my purse down. "Who from 1PP called, demanding that you get an interim Sargent for SVU to replace me?"

"Nobody," Carisi says quickly. "They all understood that...the situation called for a mandatory six-week grief period and no one faults you for that... They may have wanted me to replace Amanda there for a moment, but..."

"Replace Amanda?!" I cry out, turning and seeing her on her phone in her office. I turn back to Carisi then, grabbing him by the arm and successfully towing him into the room outside one of our interrogation rooms. I shut the door forcefully behind us and turn to face him, looking at him like he's got four heads. "Okay, Carisi, you have got to tell me what's going on here!"

He sighs. "She had to sit down with 1PP right after it happened—just like you, me, and everyone else involved had to," he replies. "I guess they all wanted to make sure that all our stories were on the up and up..."

"Carisi, come on—I know all that," I say, shaking my head. "Both my parents were in this business before me and now here I am," I say. "Come on—be straight with me, please. What exactly did 1PP say?"

"Confidentiality..."

I cock an eyebrow. "Don't bother giving me that bull," I reply. "Come on—I know how close you and Amanda are." I then deliberately lower my voice to a stage whisper, "I also know that the department would be very upset if they knew the full story behind your relationship..."

"Edythe..."

"What?!" I demand, not raising my voice. "My parents, Olivia, Fin—we all know that you guys were married almost fifteen years ago! Hell, we all went to the wedding for crying out loud! And then there's the matter of your boys together—how long are you going to keep them under wraps?"

"Would you leave the boys out of this—please?" Carisi says, and obviously I'd touched a nerve. "It's bad enough that Declan sued for joint-custody as soon as he'd heard about our intentions... Do you know how badly I wanted to adopt Jesse?!" he demands, pain in his tone. "I'm Catholic—it's what we do! I may not preach everything about the religion, but that's how I was raised..."

"Were you also raised to lie?" I ask.

He sighs. "No, of course not."

"This has to do with my mother's murder," I reply. "Come on, Carisi, please. I think I've gone through enough." I step forward, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Carisi—you and I, we go way back. You've known me since I was a teenager, and took me under your wing around here as soon as Fin left. I even promised Amanda I'd help keep an eye on you when some of the new recruits came, especially after that fiasco with that one detective Grace Phillips. Who knows what she would've tried to pull?"

Carisi nods. "You're right, I'm sorry. You should know."

"All right—off the record," I say. "Tell me."

"1PP was claiming negligence on Amanda's part," he tells me quietly.

"Negligence?!" I demand. "For what?!"

"For letting Jake get away," he replies. "They claimed that she should've called for more back-up and that she should've kept a better eye on her prisoner. They pretty much blamed your mother's death on her."

"It's not her fault," I assure Carisi; although the thought had crossed my mind more than a few times, I'd never let anyone know that. "Don't worry—I told the authorities—meaning my dad—my version of events and I was assured that nobody was getting fired."

"Are you..." He sighs. "Are you going to leave SVU?"

Immediately, I shake my head. "Of course not," I reply. "Lincoln and I have discussed it at length and there's no way I ever could."

Carisi immediately puts his arms around me. "Good—because we need you. All of us need you."

I embrace him back. "Thank you, Sonny," I reply, calling him by his nickname for the first time.

He pulls back, a quizzical look on his face. "You've never called me that before—I thought you had something against informality."

I shake my head. "I'm turning over a new leaf."

Sonny nods. "Looks good on you," he replies.

"Now, I just need a good distraction," I say, shaking my head again.

"Well, you're in luck," he tells me. "I just got a call before you got in about a pretty bad sounding child abuse case. Want to go check it out with me?"

I blink. "You want me to go?"

"Yeah—who better?"

I nod. "Yeah, sounds good," I reply, walking out of the interrogation room. "And where exactly are we going?"

"I'll drive," he assures me, following me down to the parking garage. "It's an apartment building in Midtown—pretty miserable one if you ask me..."

"And Amanda won't mind that you're taking me?"

"Why would she mind?" Sonny asks, opening the door to the parking garage and leading me to his car. "You said yourself that she trusted you with me against other detectives. Why not you?"

I shrug. "Why not me?" I ask quietly as we get into his car.

"So, what's the deal?" I ask him, as we sit, poised, inside his car as a light rain storm picks up. "Do we just storm in? What's our plan here?"

"Here's the deal," Sonny replies, "the couple are the Jones'—Dick and Susie Jones. They apparently have some domestic violence going on within their household, and the neighbors constantly hear the kids crying."

"They suspect abuse or neglect towards the children?" I ask, peering up at the imposing, Depression-era apartment building that looked as if it had seen better days. "Please tell me the answer is 'no'."

"If the answer was 'no', do you think we'd be here?"

I sigh. "Probably not," I reply, mimicking him as I exit his car. "Which floor are these people on?"

"The sixth," Sonny replies, as we make our way towards the entrance. "From what I've heard from some of our scouts, the only update in recent years to this place has been an elevator."

"How lucky for those mothers with push carriages or elderly women with groceries," I reply bitterly as we step inside the lobby. "So, sixth floor?" I ask him as we approach the ancient-looking elevator in the not-so-posh lobby.

"Yeah," Sonny replies, clicking the button himself. We wait for the elevator to come and step inside when it arrives, the smell of urine and cigarette smoke immediately filling our noses.

"What room we headed to?" I ask, wrinkling my nose and attempting and failing to ignore the smell as the elevator clunks to life.

Sonny sucks in between his teeth. "617," he replies.

"Got it," I say. I roll back momentarily on the balls of my feet. "So, is this dad on welfare, or is he into some sort of risky construction?"

Sonny gives me a sarcastic laugh. "Welfare, from what I've heard, but I also hear that he likes to drink, gamble, and do drugs down at a pub on Fourth Street," he replies as the elevator doors shudder open and let us out. "Fifty-fifty chance he's there or home."

"May the odds be ever in our favor," I reply sarcastically as we figure out which side of the building the apartment will be on. After walking for about a minute, we manage to find the door—not by simple math, but by the sobbing of a woman, the yelling of a man, and the wails of a child from within.

"What do you think?" Sonny asks.

"Hold on a minute," I say, bending down when I notice that the door possesses one of those old brass knob jobs with a key hole. Peering in through the small hole inside the wall, I manage to see Mr. and Mrs. Jones beside one of those tiny windows in all those old buildings. I spot Mr. Jones screaming at his wife and Mrs. Jones begging for him to stop and to be quiet. When Mr. Jones knocks down his wife forcefully, however, I immediately dart out of the way. "Go!" I shout at my partner, motioning for Sonny to do something.

"Domestic violence?" he asks.

"Don't ask questions—break the door down!" I cry, nodding enthusiastically so as he will do what's right.

Sonny promptly kicks the door down with limited force, and it quickly splinters and falls with a crash to the ground. "NYPD!" he shouts, his gun already drawn as we charge into the house. "Freeze! Get on the ground!" he yells.

"This is a family matter!" Mr. Jones screams.

"Get down on your knees now!" I yell at Mr. Jones, my own gun drawn, and to that he promptly falls to his knees. "Hands behind your head right now!" I say firmly to him as Sonny whips out his handcuffs.

I turn immediately to see to Mrs. Jones; her husband's obscene gold ring has cut into her face, and she lies weeping on the floor. "Mrs. Jones?" I ask her softly, and put my hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Jones, are you all right?"

She shudders. "Please...please don't..."

"What?" I ask, getting to my knees as Sonny hauls Mr. Jones out of there. "I'm going to need you to speak up, please. I'm Sergeant Beckett, and I'm here to help you, but I need you to talk a little louder, Mrs. Jones..."

"Please don't take my kids," she whispers, sobbing, still refusing to make eye contact with me.

"Why would I take your kids?" I ask her.

Mrs. Jones rolls over slightly before permitting herself to get to her feet. Then, she turns to face me, and I see the telltale sign of crushed up cocaine on her nostrils, and know full well that she must be strung out.

"Mrs. Jones, I'm sorry," I say gravely, and take out my handcuffs, "I have to arrest you now for drug possession..."

"No!" she screams, but I manage to get her subdued just enough to cuff her. It is then that I hear sobs from what must be the back bedroom, and Sonny arrives in the doorway soon thereafter.

"Amanda's downstairs with back-up—what are you doing?!" he demands as I hand over Mrs. Jones to him.

I nod to the glass-top coffee table, where copious amounts of cocaine have been crushed and snorted. I also see a few used needles there, and promptly pull up Mrs. Jones sleeves, where several needle marks are, fresh and old. "She's a user, with drugs out in the open and obviously in her system," I reply simply. "Take her downstairs while I get her kids, Sonny. I know, I know," I say when he tries to interrupt me, "but we can't leave kids in this environment and you know that. You need to listen to me Sonny."

Sonny nods. "You're right," he says, leading Mrs. Jones out of there. "Susie Jones, you're under arrest for possession and consumption of drugs, and child abuse and neglect..." He says, his words fading out as he brings her to the elevator.

Years ago, seeing all that cocaine would've swayed me severely, but I merely shake my head at it and put my job first. I walk past the table, crossing my fingers that Sonny, Amanda, or another detective will wire Narcotics for me as I make my way to the back bedroom. There is a crib, with two small children inside it—one a newborn and the second a one-year-old girl—while there is a child's bed with two other children, a boy and a girl, sitting on it with a thin, ratty blanket—both looking around four-years-old.

"Hi, hi," I say gently to all of them, noting their red faces and puffed-up cheeks at the sight of a strange person in their bedroom. "It's okay. I'm a police officer. My name is Edythe," I say to them all gently, desperate to take them into my arms to comfort them all from their sadness and fear. "Can either of you tell me your names?" I ask the four-year-old's.

The girl of the twins sighs, looking very tired. "I'm Brandy," she replies, "and that's Jack," she says, nodding to her twin brother.

"Hi, Brandy," I say gently to her, "hey, Jack," I say to her brother. "And what about them? Can you tell me their names?"

"That's Crystal," Brandy replies, nodding at the one-year-old. "And that's our little brother, Martini," she replies. "Mommy says he's cracked."

"Okay," I say, trying and failing not to cry at her statement that her youngest brother was likely addicted to crack cocaine.

"Where's Mommy and Daddy?" Jack asks, speaking for the first time.

"Well, Mommy and Daddy had to go away for a while," I reply. "But, they told me before they leave that I have permission to take you to a wonderful place to live," I say, trying my best to stay upbeat as Sonny hovers in the doorway. "This is my friend, Sonny. Sonny, this is Brandy, Jack, Crystal, and Martini," I say to him, and force myself to smile.

"Mommy says that Martini is cracked," Brandy repeats.

Sonny stiffens. "Well, come on," he says, obviously uncomfortable.

"Brandy, why don't you and Jack follow Sonny?" I ask.

Sonny nods, obviously pleased with that alternative as he scoops up them both without any objection and carries them out of there. "Hey, sweetheart," I say, gently lifting Crystal out of her crib, and she comes willingly with me as I bend to scoop up Martini, who thankfully hasn't soiled his diaper. I carry them out just behind Sonny, and we make our way down the hallway and to the elevator. Stepping out and through the lobby, we are greeted by a woman from CPS who takes all four children, puts them in a car, and takes them all away.

"They'll be fine," Sonny assures me.

I nod. "I know," I reply.

When Saturday rolls around again, I make the hour drive to Rikers Island and put in my formal physical request to see Karissa. I surrender my gun at the desk and go through the other form of security before the warden shows me to her cell, where I have been granted permission to go. I'd also requested a solo meeting, as well as the appeal that Karissa did not know that I was coming. The warden unlocked her cell door—the white paint chipping away—and locked me back in with her. I perched on the provided stool, and waited for her to sit up and look at me full in the face for the first time in years.

"Hello, Karissa," I said levelly, speaking first when she made no move to do so. "I would say you're looking well, but orange jumpsuits really don't look well on anyone, now do they?"

She purses her lips and sighs. "What do you want Edythe?"

"So, you know that it's me?" I ask softly.

She shrugs. "I gave birth to you, didn't I? I'm your mother. Of course I know it's you, sweetheart," she replies bitterly.

I straighten in my seat. "You're not my mother."

She rolls her eyes. "If you came here to do this, I'm not interested. Guard!" she calls out then.

I shake my head at her, cutting her off. "The guards have the understanding that I and only I can end this meeting," I say softly. "Don't even try doing what you used to do to me to keep me quiet, Karissa—I could take two of you with my eyes closed. They do a lot of training at police academy."

She smirks. "You an officer now or something?"

"I'm a sergeant," I reply. "That means I'm third-in-command of my squad. I know a thing or two, and I've been involved with the crime world ever since my parents introduced me to it. I knew what I wanted to do at sixteen, so I worked my butt off so by the time I was eighteen, I was ready for the academy. I graduated, and now here I am, third-in-command."

Karissa deliberately averts her eyes. "I see."

I hesitate for a moment, but won't allow my questions to be quashed. "I came here today because I want answers, Karissa, and you're going to give them to me, one way or another."

Karissa digs underneath her mattress and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up with a lighter in the next moment. "Want one?" she asks, speaking from the side of her mouth.

I shake my head. "No, thank you."

She shrugs, returning the pack to its place beneath her mattress. "I don't know what you want to know, Edythe."

"I want to know why," I reply.

She raises her eyes to mine. "Why?" she asks. "Why what?"

"Why did you do what you did?" I say, wanting desperately to scream at her and to strike her, but made no move to do so. "What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?"

"You were born!" she growls. "You just had to be born and wreck my relationship with...your father..."

"Stop being evasive—I know who he is," I reply in a clipped tone. "And if you were so worried and against having a kid, why the hell wouldn't you use birth control?!" I demand.

She groans. "What are you, my mother?"

"No, I'm not," I reply. "Normally, I'd say I'm your daughter, but, thanks to you, I no longer have that."

"Why?" she asks. "You disowning me?"

"More than," I reply. "Considering you had my own mother murdered to fulfill a sick, twisted fantasy of depriving me of a mother."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" she demands.

"Don't play coy with me," I say, firmly. "I know there must be records somewhere of Jake coming in here to see you—although I have no idea how or why he got out of prison in in the first place..."

"He got a mercy calling or whatever it's called," Karissa replied. "He got released because he was diagnosed with terminal cancer."

"But, he did still come to see you, right?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "Hasn't been back for a while, though..."

"That's probably because my captain shot him almost two months ago," I reply, and find I want her to suffer.

"Jake? My Jake?" she whispers, shaking. "My Jake is gone?"

"Dead and gone," I reply, with a voice like stone.

"Why?"

"Because he killed my mother," I reply. "He shot and killed my mother, and she died in my arms. Happy now?"

"No," she whispers, looking at me. "Why would that make me happy?"

"Because my savior is dead, and your savior killed her for you."

"Look, I could say that I wasn't the perfect mother..."

"You were far from it!" I shout, raising my voice at her for the first time. "Far from perfect, Karissa! You withheld information about my biological father, you got addicted to drugs and alcohol, and you began dating a pedophile!" I cry out, the hurt apparent in my tone. "You let him move in with us, and then got too drunk and high to notice that he was raping me!"

"No," she says firmly, turning away from me. "It's not true."

"He _raped_ me!" I shout at her, my voice breaking, and my tears blinding my vision, making her appear muddled before me. "I was only five—five, Karissa, five—I was innocent of anything and everything, and yet you stood by and just let it happen!" I say. "I remember you standing in the doorway, illuminated by the hall light, and telling Jake to 'get in there' and to 'go for it' and that it was all him! I remember you guys talking about trading me to other guys for money, and about how difficult it would be to sell me because I wasn't a virgin. But then you found people who would want me, and sold my 'services' to them! I remember just lying there in the darkness with nameless faces after nameless faces, all with different grunts, skin colors, facial hair—all to make you money! I remember it was two hundred a turn with me... You let disgusting me do god knows what to me—some of which I'll never remember..."

"But wearing condoms was enforced—"

"It doesn't matter, Karissa!" I scream at her. "You stood by for years and let Jake's friends do what he wanted to me because it financed your drugs and alcohol! And never once did you think about what you were doing to me... Was it just easier, Karissa? Was it easier to fry your brain than to think about all the damage you were doing to your daughter?"

"Obviously I didn't," Karissa replies. "So, why are you asking?"

"I'm asking because I need the final piece of the puzzle," I whisper to her. "I'm asking because I need to figure out some way to tell my children that they will never meet their biological grandmother..."

"You got some brats yourself?"

I won't allow her to ruffle any more of my feathers. "Yes," I reply, my voice returning to its clipped tone. "We have three biological children, my husband and I, and soon to be two by adoption."

"What are they called?"

I sighed. "Leia was our first—she's my husband's niece and we adopted her after her mother passed away. Then we had Felicity, Fin, and Hunter. And now we're in the process of adopting another child, Chelsea."

"How old are they?"

"Leia and Chelsea are seventeen; Felicity is twelve; Fin is eight; and Hunter is six," I say.

"And your husband? What does he do?"

"He's the District Attorney for Manhattan," I reply.

She sighs, taking a long drag on her cigarette. "I guess I'm never getting out of here, as long as he's in charge, right?"

I fix her with a bitter smile. "You're never getting out of here based on your crimes against humanity."

"You're not the whole of the human race, Edythe," she sneers.

"No, I'm not," I reply, "but the whole of the human race is offended enough to keep you locked up for good."

"Do you know why I called you in here?"

I shake my head, wondering if this interrogation would go on record. "No, I'm sorry," I reply, feeling utterly confused and straightening in my seat. "Captain, is something wrong?"

Amanda sighs, her shoulders deflating ever so slightly. "I hate to do this, but I'm thinking of reassigning you, Sergeant."

I blink. "I'm sorry... Excuse me, captain?"

Her eyes lock with mine. "I saw you and Sonny together in the interrogation room last week together."

"I can explain that, captain," I reply. "We were merely discussing the shooting of my mother. Nothing more."

"Seemed a lot more than that," she replies. She picks up a remote and presses a button, a screen coming down from its slot in the ceiling. Pressing a second button, she calls up the day in question; there is no audio, as the speakers were under repairs at the time, but she manages to find the moment where Sonny and I were embracing, along with the other physical contact that we were engaging in. She finally stops it, at the moment that we are embracing, and turns to look at me. "It really seems like a lot more than that."

I shake my head at her. "You're wrong," I reply. "Sonny is an old friend, captain, just like you are to me. I would never engage in this type of behavior. I'm in love with my husband, and, quite frankly, I'm really offended by the topic of this conversation."

"Well, maybe you took a page from your mother's playbook," Amanda replies bitterly, fixing me with a look.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

Amanda gives me a shallow smile. "I'm merely referring to the open secret that your mother fraternized and was in love with a married man when she initially became an officer here in New York," she replies levelly.

"That's none of your business," I reply, my tone clipped. "I hardly think this is an appropriate line of discussion..."

"Neither is the one we were having where I was implying that you were having an affair with my husband," she replies, instantly.

"I'm not having an affair with Sonny!" I cry out, getting to my feet. "He and I are friends, and I've got my own husband, thank you!"

"You're just like your mother," Amanda says, shaking her head and turning back to her desk. "Never satisfied with what she's got..."

"Sonny and I were talking about your interview with 1PP," I say, firmly, getting tired of her accusations.

Amanda promptly turns around. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I say. "It was all off the record, of course. I felt I had a right to know what you were being accused of—murder, was it?" I say. "I told my father my version of events, and even went so far as to go to see him personally later that day and to tell him that you did not, in any way shape or form, contribute to my mother's death! Maybe you see that as the last act of a guilty sergeant, but I like to see it as yet another act of a good friend. We've always been close, Amanda—you're like my Olivia. I consider you, next to Lincoln, as my closest friend, which says a lot, as I have trust issues, as I'm sure you can understand. I may have gone against my mother department-wise, but I won't have you speaking against her now that she's gone—in a death that you did not contribute to."

"I..." Amanda says, shocked. "...thank you."

"I love Lincoln," I say, more gently this time, "and I wouldn't ever do anything that may cause me to lose him. I know what you saw in there might be construed as wrong, but it was innocent. I promise. Have a lip-reader go in there and see what we said—I have nothing to hide."

"No need," Amanda said softly, shutting off the projection screen and allowing it to go back to the top. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

Amanda nods. "I know you must be going through a lot and I had no right to judge you like that. I'm sorry."

"Under the circumstances, I understand," I reply. "Now, if you'll excuse me," I say, inching to the door, "I have a hearing to get to."

"A hearing?"

I turn around then, smiling at Amanda. "Chelsea's adoption hearing is this afternoon," I tell her. "Fingers crossed we get the answer we want."

"Do we ever?" Amanda asks.

I sigh and shrug. "Only if we're lucky," I reply.


	18. Sticks and Stones

Chapter Eighteen: Sticks and Stones

October seventeenth, 2035—the day that our family would officially become complete. It wasn't until I met Lincoln that I knew I even wanted to have children one day—of course, had the circumstances been different, and had I married Baxter, we would have had children, too. Yet, one cannot make assumptions like that, just as one cannot know what a new day would bring. All I knew when I left the SVU squad room and drove from their parking garage and across town was that Chelsea was my daughter, and today it would be made official.

I'd known it from little things along the way—how she had confided in me about her sexuality, as well as meeting her girlfriend Miranda, who had joined us for a few days over the summer on our trip. Chelsea had opened up to me right away and I felt that it takes a special person to unlock the secrets of any young person who feels as if they must hide them away. After a particularly grueling day while on vacation, Lincoln had gone to bed as had everyone else, but I'd gone outside to the courtyard to sit by the river. It was nearing ten o'clock, but it was in the low-sixties so it wasn't too terribly cold. When I heard the footsteps beside me, and turned to see Chelsea, I immediately waved her over.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, moving to the side to a bit on the bench and motioning for her to sit beside me.

She sighed. "I miss Miranda," she confessed.

I smiled a little and put an arm around her. "The two of you seem very close," I said gently. "Lincoln and I have been very happy getting to know her these past few weeks."

She bit her lip, rolling her shoulders. "I'm sorry that the social worker didn't tell you to truth," she said quietly.

"What are you talking about, Chelsea?"

She sighs, slumping on the bench, her eyes glued to the water in front of us. "We were put into the foster system three times before we came to you," she replies. "I was always so scared whenever a court date came up because I knew that Mom and Dad would do or say something to get us back and they always did..." She says softly, her voice breaking.

"Oh, sweetheart," I say, moving and putting my arms around her as she begins to sob quietly.

"All I ever wanted was a family," she says softly, pulling back. "And I'm not trying to guilt you and Lincoln into becoming that family, but—"

I sighed; Lincoln and I had discussed it at length, and we'd mutually agreed that we had four kids already and four was enough—though we had the money to take on two more kids, it's not something we wanted to do. There was also the matter of time, which we had too little of as it was, so there was no way in hell we could take on two troubled teenagers. "I know you're not," I say gently to her. "But Lincoln and I have discussed it, and..."

"I know you're not going to adopt us," Chelsea said quickly. "No, I haven't been listening to your conversations or anything—nothing like that. But I'm not blind, Edythe, I'm not. You've got four kids already, and it'd be pretty complicated to take in two additional teenagers forever..."

I sigh. "You're smarter than people give you credit for," I reply. "But you're right —given our circumstances, I'm afraid we can't. But," I say, launching into another thing that Lincoln and I had discussed, "we are going to be fostering you long-term until a suitable match comes forth for you."

"But what if one doesn't come?" Chelsea asks. "What if Owen and I turn eighteen and age out of the system?"

I smile at her. "Don't worry—Lincoln and I are willing to allow you to live with us until you graduate from college, should that happen."

Chelsea smiles. "Thank you, Edythe..." She hesitates then, almost as if she wants to say more but is unsure how to; finally, she speaks. "You said from the beginning that if I had something to disclose, I could, right?"

I nod, pulling back completely to see her face. "Of course, Chelsea. You can tell me anything you like."

She sighs, lowering her eyes. "Did our social worker tell you everything about our dad?" she asks.

"She told us that he was in prison," I reply.

"Did she say why?"

"She said that he was given a life-sentence for murder," I say quietly. "Do you know for whom, or...?"

She nods. "Yeah... We had other siblings..."

At once, my eyes widen; there hadn't been any record of any other siblings when the house was raided. "Older or younger?" I ask.

"Two older, two younger," she replies, her voice shaking. "Our older siblings—Jasper and Katherine—were able to escape. Jasper ran away from home and legally changed his name and found another family who adopted him; he lives in Portland, Oregon now. Katherine got pregnant at fifteen—Mom and Dad made her work just like me—but she had the courage to get out on her own and make a new life for herself and her baby..."

"And that's when your parents made you start working?" I ask quietly, a knot forming in my belly.

Chelsea nods. "Yes," she says softly.

"And your younger siblings?" I inquire. "Richard and Beatrice," she replies. "I was twelve when Katherine left and I soon became the main draw when it came to their...side business," she says softly, and I know then that that must've been what her parents called it. "Richard was born around nine months after Katherine left, followed by Beatrice just two years after that..."

I shudder, a dark thought entering my mind. "Chelsea, I'm only asking you this because I'm fostering you—but I am a cop..."

She nods. "I understand. Ask me."

I swallow then, feeling very uncomfortable asking my foster daughter this, but the timing was just so precise... "Chelsea, are you Richard and Beatrice's biological mother?" I ask her.

"Yes," she says, almost anticipating my question. "Yes, I am."

"Where are they?"

She looks up, past me, staring at the sky, the moon reflected in her tear-filled eyes as she tries to speak. "Dad told me I wasn't allowed to ever admit to either of the pregnancies," she said quietly. "He forced me to admit who their father was before he and Mom forged the necessary documents to make themselves appear to be their biological parents..."

"Who was their biological father?"

"Different men—I was passed around a lot," she says, lowering her eyes and shaking her head in shame. "The first one, Axel Perrin, was quickly disposed of by Dad; then there was Dez Pfeiffer, and Dad picked him off too, but wasn't too careful, and got caught..."

"So, your father went to jail because he did a double-murder of the two men who got you pregnant?"

"Yes," Chelsea replies.

I put my arm around her shoulders. "That couldn't have been easy for you..."

Chelsea sighs and leans into me then, resting her head on my own shoulder. "I just hope it's as easy to talk to my adoptive parents as it will be to talk to you," she replies.

I arrive at the courthouse around twenty minutes after my meeting with Amanda and make my way from the parking garage and into the waiting room. I grin as I see my entire family there, ignoring the close proximity of Leia and Owen, thinking that it is nothing as I walk to where Lincoln is standing, his arm around Chelsea, with Miranda standing by. I feel a sigh of relief escaping from Chelsea's lips as I step forward, and we throw our arms around each other.

"Hey, baby," I whisper into her hair, locking eyes with Lincoln. "What time was our appointment again?" "About fifteen minutes—just in time," he assures me, as Felicity, Fin, and Hunter gather around us. "Soon," he says as Chelsea pulls back to look at him, still secure in my arms, "our family will be complete." He puts a hand down on Chelsea's shoulder, smiling down at her. "Sweetheart, we had no way of knowing that we would expand our family further, but from the moment you walked into our lives, we knew you were something special."

We make small talk for a few minutes before a bailiff appears at the double doors to the courtroom and looks at us. "DA and Sergeant Beckett?" he asks, a gleam of familiarity in his eyes. "Judge Draper is waiting for you."

"Thank you," I say, and Lincoln and I take Chelsea's hands and walk with her into the courtroom. Leia and Owen walk behind us, along with Miranda, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter at their heels.

Lincoln and I walk with Chelsea through the gate and move to sit at the table on the left side of the courtroom. The rest of our children, and Owen and Miranda, move to sit just behind the gate in the provided benches. Chelsea and Owen's social worker is sitting on the opposite side of the courtroom, and we are made to stand shortly thereafter as the bailiff steps forward again.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Roxanne Draper," said the bailiff before walking off to the side as the chamber doors opened.

Judge Draper had handled some child custody dispute cases for SVU, so both Lincoln and I were familiar with her courtroom tactics. She came into the courtroom and flashed us both a familiar smile before she made her way to her judge's seat in a sweep of black and white silk. She sets down her paperwork onto her desk just before sitting and, when she does so, looks up, her dark eyes taking us all in as she looked over the various parties. "All right, let's get right to it," she says, opening the document in front of her. "We'll hear from the social worker, Jacqueline Potter, first."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Jacqueline said, getting to her feet. "First of all, I'd just like to say how much Chelsea has come into her own since arriving in DA and Sergeant Beckett's care. Not only is she now getting straight A's instead of merely A's and B's, but her general attitude—according to her professors—has improved drastically. She is attending classes and after-school activities on time and on their proper daily basis, and her therapist reports that she is generally happier. All in all, I believe that Chelsea is a better person for coming into the Beckett family's lives, and I believe a permanent adoption is the best route to go."

"Thank you," Judge Draper said. "Let the record reflect that Jacqueline Potter, the official social worker for the minor child Chelsea Torrance is on board with an immediate adoption." Next, she turned and looked at me and Lincoln. "Would either of you like to say anything?"

I got to my feet. "Chelsea fully opened up to us over the summer, when we went on a family vacation," I begin. "My husband and I began fostering children in order to fully give back to the community. You know as well as I do that he and I do so on a daily basis, what with our mutual jobs in law enforcement. Yet, when it came to fostering, it was just something I had to do in my life." I turn slightly to Chelsea, and place my hand on her shoulder. "Lincoln and I had decided not to have any more children after our second son was born, because we believed that four children was enough. However, when Chelsea came into our lives with her brother, my husband and I felt an immediate connection with the both of them. We soon decided to expand our family one last time," I say, sitting down again and feeling pleased when Chelsea puts her hand in mine.

"And why is it that you've decided not to adopt Owen Torrance, the twin brother of the minor child Chelsea Torrance?" Judge Draper asks as I move to stand up once again.

"Your Honor, if I may?" Jacqueline asks.

"Yes, of course," Judge Draper says.

Jacqueline gets to her feet. "Owen Torrance declined to be adopted," she replies in a non-judgmental tone. "DA and Sergeant Beckett told both minor children at the same time their intention to adopt them. Miss Torrance accepted, while Mr. Torrance declined. DA and Sergeant Beckett have made a deal with the courts prior to this date to continue to foster Owen Torrance until his eighteenth birthday, and he has accepted."

"Very well," Judge Draper says, scanning the various documents in front of her—presumably a soon-to-be issued birth certificate for Chelsea, if her decision went our way. "Miss Torrance, would you care to say a few words?" Judge Draper asked, looking up at Chelsea.

"Yes, Your Honor," Chelsea replied, getting to her feet. "I love DA and Sergeant Beckett very much. From the moment I came into their home, I wasn't treated any differently than any of their children. They didn't give up on me, and didn't take the notion that the system had failed me numerous times into account. They love me, just as much as I love them, and even if you decline my adoption today, I know that we'll still find a way to make a family."

Judge Draper smiles. "You don't need to convince me, Miss Torrance," she replies effortlessly. "I can see from the written reports—plus the oral ones that I received here in this courtroom today—that there is a lot of love in the Beckett household. I also considered the home report, as well as the notion that both DA and Sergeant Beckett are financially stable enough to take on another child." She sighs then, looking over the report in front of her. "I know that sometimes life isn't very fair, Miss Torrance, but you were able to get out of a bad environment and make a home for yourself in a new one." She looks up, her eyes awash with tears. "Well, I suppose that does it, then," she says, dashing the tears out of her eyes. "I am officially signing off of your adoption, Chelsea. As of this moment, you are formally known as Chelsea Amber Beckett. Welcome to your new family, and your new life," Judge Draper says, bending her head and lifting up her pen, and she signs something in a flourish.

It takes a moment for the notion that Chelsea is now my daughter to hit me, but the second it does, I'm up and out of my seat and throwing my arms around her. I look around Chelsea and see that Lincoln is throwing his arms around her as well, and we three take a moment to celebrate this moment—we officially had a third daughter, and five children. When we finally force ourselves to let her go, I watch as Owen hugs Chelsea next, followed by Miranda, Leia, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter. I look at the back of the courtroom then, and nearly faint on the spot.

Standing by the courtroom door is my mother and I find that I must be crazy. I walk towards her, shaking my head in confusion. "Are you really here?" I whisper to her, shock evident in my tone.

She smiles, looking around me at Chelsea. "She's a lovely girl," my mother tells me then, and reaches out to cup my cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

"Don't go," I say softly, my eyes soon awash with fresh tears as I take ahold of her hand upon my cheek. "Please—you haven't met her yet..."

"But I know her very well," she assures me. "And I also know why Owen declined to be adopted."

"Why?" I ask her, desperation at the back of my tone.

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you that," she replies. "Today is about celebrating Chelsea's adoption—don't think about anything else."

"Mom, please!" I whisper, clutching at her hand. "Don't go..."

She smiles. "I have to," she replies.

It is then that I feel something on my leg vibrating, and I immediately feel my eyes drawn to where the sound is coming from. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I move to answer it when I see Amanda's name on the screen. Looking up again, I am devastated to see that my mother had vanished.

I feel like a criminal as I beg Lincoln to take everyone out for dinner and to make my apologies as I leave to return to work. I say a quick goodbye to Chelsea and tell her that I will celebrate with her properly over the weekend—my mission? Buy her a car, now that she was a formal member of the family. I get into my own car and drive like a madwoman across Manhattan and get back to the squad room in record time, walking into the squad room and heading directly into Amanda's office, letting myself in.

"This better be good," I say sarcastically as I let myself in. "I had to leave my daughter's adoption hearing for this..."

"Get the verdict you wanted?" Sonny asks.

I nod. "Yeah—she's ours. We got her," I say, shutting the door behind me and leaning up against it. "So, what do we got?"

"A surprise," Amanda says with a smile. She moves to flick on the light of the interrogation room attached to her office, and I am shocked to see Olivia and Fin sitting in the room.

"What did you...?"

"Called them up," Sonny replies. "They wanted to be here for you, regardless of the outcome of Chelsea's adoption."

"I...no," I said quickly, running out of there. I make my way down the hallway and towards the elevator, before second guessing myself and dashing down the staircase and back into the parking garage. All I wanted to do in that moment was run—it was all I wanted, all I needed, to do. As I dashed as quickly as I could towards my car, tears blinded my vision once again that day, as I remembered the last time I'd had a proper conversation with Olivia and Fin...

"How are you holding up?"

I shrugged at Fin. "I don't know—it's what Lincoln said to me over the weekend that just set me off..."

"What'd he say? Want me to take care of him for you?"

I turn to Fin and cock an eyebrow at him. "He said to me that he thought it was high time we had another child..."

"Another one? Hold up now—Felicity isn't even two yet. Why would he even suggest something like that?"

I roll my eyes. "Because part of him is a chauvinist pig who wants to be the sole breadwinner," I mutter. "If I get pregnant, then I don't work. If I don't work, he feels like more of a man by bringing in the only income..." I slump further down in my seat. "I don't even know if I want another child! Two is enough, isn't it?" I ask him, peering over at him.

Fin shrugs, apparently distracted by the snowfall. "I only got the one son—you know that. But, maybe—and this is just a guy talking, so feel free to tell me to shut up at any time—maybe Lincoln wants...you know. A boy..."

I stick my tongue out at him. "Shut up," I reply.

"Point taken," he says.

I let out a sigh, my breath forming a cloud in his car. "How do we even know that this is where we're going to bust him?" I ask. "It's a church on Sunday morning—of course we're going to see people around..."

"The service isn't until ten," Fin reminds me patiently. "You know as well as I do that there'll be a bunch of altar boys showing up early..."

"Do we?" I ask him.

He turns to me. "Yeah? I mean, we will... Won't we?"

I shrug. "If you do, great. But not me. I wasn't raised with any form of religion whatsoever—you were at my wedding. Remember? No churches—that was one of my stipulations for marrying Lincoln."

Fin shakes his head, trying and failing not to laugh. "Promise me something, okay, Edythe?"

I sit up in the seat, succeeding in popping my back. "What's that?"

"If you ever do have a son, name him after me, all right?"

"Why, so he'll be as stubborn as you are?"

"Watch it," he says, a gleam of humor in his eye. "But maybe that's the reason behind it. Of course, we'll never know if you decide to stop at two..."

"Hey, look over there," I say, nodding to a pair of boys—no more than ten years old—walking down the street together. Their hair is perfect, as are their clothes, which can only mean one thing. My thoughts are confirmed when they both walk up the stairs to the church together and head inside a side door.

"Altar boys," Fin and I say at the same time.

"What's the plan?" I ask Fin.

"We're going in to follow them," he replies. "Of course, we won't be able to do anything until or unless the priest does anything..."

"Disgusting," I mutter as we get out of the car, adjusting the dress that I'd been required to wear for the occasion.

"Come on," Fin says, putting an arm around my shoulders.

"You look good in a suit," I say, trying not to laugh.

He rolls his eyes. "I feel so physically uncomfortable right now—I just hope you know that," he tells me.

"Oh, I know that," I reply.

We make our way up the stone steps and into the side door of the church, where we hear faint voices coming in from where we assume is the sacristy, located off the main service room. There are frequent pillars dotting the room which we have entered, and Fin nods for me to walk to the other side of the room, releasing me from his gentle grip. I gently walk as quickly as possible over the red, carpeted floor in a pair of godforsaken feels, and hide behind another pillar. Turning, I see Fin moving to the second pillar, and I cover him, waiting for him to motion for me to move as well. The sign is given, and we make our way along the room, hiding behind the pillars as we go, the voices growing louder.

"There you are, Matthew," said the deep voice of an older man—presumably the priest Fin and I were investigating, Father James Tyler. "May God bless you and keep you. You may go into the sanctuary."

"Pardon me, Father, might I use the bathroom first?"

The priest chuckles. "Go right ahead, Matthew."

"Thank you, Father," the boy called Matthew replies, and Fin and I hear him coming, before he walks across the sanctuary and out the other entrance, opposite that of the sacristy.

"Have you polished the candlesticks?" Father Tyler asks, his tone severely different now that Matthew has gone.

"Yes, Father," says a second voice; a very sad voice.

There is a slapping sound then, almost as if the priest had hit the boy; I turn then, and Fin's eyes quickly bore into mine. He gives me a signal to remain where I'm standing, just to be sure.

"Don't be impertinent with me, Isaac," Father Tyler tells him, his voice hard. "You know, there is a story in the bible about Abraham killing his son Isaac under God's direct command..."

"Abraham didn't kill him," Isaac says quietly.

There is a second slapping sound, and Fin motions for me to stay back, although my blood is boiling just beneath the surface of my skin.

"Stop this fresh behavior at once," Father Tyler growls. "God will strike you down if you continue to treat your elders badly!"

"Father, please..." Isaac says.

"No," Father Tyler says, and Fin and I hear Isaac grunting in protest and pain. "I have to teach you to obey the will of God through me—"

"Move in, move in!" Fin says.

I don't need telling twice; I charge ahead of Fin, and we two arrive in the sacristy in seconds flat. "Police!" I scream.

"NYPD, hold it right there!" Fin says.

We are there just in time to see Isaac's tearstained face, and I feel myself wanting to vomit when I see just what the priest is doing to him. I find I can't move, I am so shocked, so Fin does it for me.

"Get your ass over here," Fin says, making a grab for the priest and hauling him away from there. "We're going Downtown," he says, "and then we're gonna book you. People don't take too kindly to child molesters," he tells him, taking him through the sanctuary and outside.

"Isaac?" I say, watching as the young man adjusts his clothing. "You don't need to be nervous or afraid. My name is Edythe; I'm a detective with the Special Victim's Unit," I tell him, and he turns to look at me. "Can you tell me how old you are, or your parent's names or phone number?"

"I'm nine," he replies.

I nod. "Okay. And what are your parents' names, sweetheart?"

"Noah and Lydia Stone," he replies.

I give him a smile. "All right, sweetheart. Do they live nearby?"

He nods. "Three blocks."

I reach out for his hand. "Why don't I wire my partner—that man who was just in here, Fin—and let him know that we're going to take a walk, all right? I'll take you home, and everything's going to be fine."

He nods, his face crumpling. "Are you going to arrest me now?"

I get to my knees quickly then. "No, sweetheart, of course not," I tell him. "Tell me, did Father Tyler tell you that you would be arrested if you ever told anyone or if anyone ever found out?"

Isaac nods, tears forming in his eyes. "Father Tyler said that since I participated in sins of the flesh before marriage, that I'd be damned..."

"It's all right, sweetheart," I say.

Isaac closes the distance between us, throwing his arms around me and sobbing into my shoulder.

I gently rub his back. "It's okay, sweetheart," I tell him, taking out my walkie in a hasty motion. "Fin, do you copy?"

"Copy, Edythe," he replies.

"Hey," I say. "I'm going to bring Isaac home—he lives just a few blocks away from here. I'll deal with the parents."

"Want me to swing back later and get you?"

"That'd be great," I reply. "I'll tell Matthew to go home, too. I'll get you the address of Isaac's house later."

"Got it," Fin replies.

I take Isaac by the hand and walk out of there with him, telling an obviously shaken Matthew to go home immediately. I make my way out of the front doors of the church with Isaac, listening to his directions of how to get back to his house. It is close to nine o'clock when we arrive, and I am sure to tell Isaac that we must knock on the door, as I am a guest.

"Mr. Stone?" I ask, when a man of about forty comes to the front door, already dressed for church.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he asks, noticing that I'm holding Isaac's hand. "Did he do something to your property, or something, ma'am?"

I give him a smile and shake my head, withdrawing my badge. "I'm Detective Edythe Beckett. Mind if I come inside?"

Mr. Stone blinks, obviously shocked. "Yeah, yeah, come on in," he says, opening the door and stepping back.

I allow Isaac inside first, and we are shown into the living room, where Mrs. Stone is attempting to quiet down a four-year-old girl, all the while breastfeeding another boy in her arms.

"Honey?" Mr. Stone says, approaching his wife. "We got company. Joanna, settle down please," he says, referring to his daughter.

"Good morning," Mrs. Stone says. "How can we help?"

"This is a detective," Mr. Stone tells his wife.

"Oh, I see" Mrs. Stone says, obviously concerned just as her youngest stops feeding. "Isaac, take Gideon and put him in the playpen," she says, quickly covering herself and handing Gideon over to her elder son. "Joanna, sweetheart, please go into the kitchen with your brothers."

"Yes, Mama," Joanna says, following Isaac out of there.

"Please, sit down," Mr. Stone says.

"Thank you," I reply, sitting on a chair across from the cream-colored, floral patterned couch that the two of them are sitting on. "I'm afraid I'm not here on a mere social call..."

Mr. Stone sighs. "Of course not. How much do we owe you?"

I blink. "Excuse me?"

Mrs. Stone sighs. "Isaac breaks things now and again—he's quite a rambunctious young man," she says, obviously very loving towards her son. "He just needs to find his niche..."

"That's why we thought helping out at church would be a help," Mr. Stone replies with a small smile. "So, how much?"

I shake my head at them. "You misunderstand me—I'm a detective for the Special Victim's Unit."

"Special Victim's?" Mr. Stone asks, confused.

"Is that the department for people who get raped?" Mrs. Stone asks.

I nod. "Yes, it is," I reply quietly, not wanting to alert Isaac or his siblings about where our conversation had gone. "My department received a tip last week about your priest at your church— Roman Catholic of the Archdiocese—about a potential molestation case..."

"Oh, God," whispers Mrs. Stone, looking away from me, tears in her eyes. "Was it Isaac?" she asks me. "Tell me it wasn't..."

"I'm so sorry," I reply. "My partner and I were scoping out the scene and went in shortly after Isaac and another boy arrived. The other boy went to the bathroom and it was quite soon after that that it...happened," I say, wanting to approach the whole thing delicately.

Mr. Stone takes his wife's hand. "What happens now?" he asks.

"My partner has taken in Father Tyler—he's been arrested," I tell them. "And I'm sorry, but it is regulations that I speak to Isaac and ask him what happened and, if the DA thinks it will be helpful, he'll have to come in for a line-up..."

"No!" Mrs. Stone cries. "No, I won't put him through that!"

"I understand," I say, forcing myself to keep my voice calm. "My husband is the DA for Manhattan, so you don't have anything to worry about. There is another way for identification to be given..."

"How?" Mr. Stone asks.

"We'll bring in an iPad," I tell them patiently. "You can be with Isaac, but you're not allowed to say anything. I'll show Isaac some photos, and once he gives a positive ID on Father Tyler, then we won't see you until the trial."

"There will be a trial?" Mrs. Stone asks, turning to me.

I nod. "I'm afraid so," I reply. "But, given Isaac's young age, I can speak to my husband about him not testifying publicly."

"How else would he testify?" Mr. Stone asks.

"We could videotape Isaac and my husband would be able to show the tape in court," I tell them gently. "It's a risk, as there wouldn't be able to do as a formal cross-examination, but we'd make it work."

"I don't want to be videotaped," says a voice from the doorway.

"Go back into the kitchen, Isaac," Mr. Stone says quietly.

"No," Isaac says, moving to stand next to me. "I want to go to court and tell the truth—I can do it."

Mrs. Stone sighs. "Can we be in the courtroom?"

"Yes, of course," I reply.

"Will you be there, too?" Isaac asks.

I nod. "Yes—they'll probably call me in for a witness and it's my case. I have to be there. It's my job."

"Will you sit with my parents?" he asks, and it is for the first time that I realize that his voice hadn't broken yet—I'd bet money that he had a lovely singing voice. "I want you to be where I can see you..."

"Why?" Mr. Stone asks. "You barely know the detective..."

"She's brave," Isaac replies, giving me a sad smile. "I want to be brave, too."

Fin arrived shortly thereafter collect me and we drove back to the squad room. I had already questioned Isaac and had gotten his statement, and I informed his parents that we'd be calling him in later in the week for a line-up. I told Fin of what had happened and he praised me over and over again until we arrived at the squad room about fifteen minutes later. I reported directly to Olivia's office, where I gave her all the necessary information.

"You had no right to do that, Edythe."

I blink, shocked at Olivia's statement. "What?" I ask, confused.

"The whole thing about the videotaped confession—that's not your call, and you know it."

"Liv, come on," Fin said. "Edythe knows that it's not her call. She just guessed right that Isaac's parents would be against him doing the whole public appearance thing in court—they're overprotective, Liv, you understand that. And besides, it doesn't matter—the kid wants to be on show."

"Doesn't matter?" Olivia demanded. "Edythe is a detective, not an officer of the court, but an officer of the law!"

"She's a detective, Liv—you know that," Fin said.

"Fin, you don't have to..."

"That's right, he doesn't have to," Olivia replied. "Part of me wants to see you demoted, Edythe—do you want that to happen?"

"No," I reply, feeling a trickle of sweat escaping my hair and running down the back of my neck as I struggle to remain on my feet as a run of pain flows through me then. "No, of course not."

Olivia shakes her head. "Obviously, you have to be at the trial, but you're on leave until further notice." She puts up her hand. "I can't let my closeness to your family constantly have me going to bat for you, Edythe. I'm sorry."

"Call it closeness, call it nepotism," Fin says, and I watch as Olivia's eyes turn and lock on Fin. "Yeah, I know—I've known for a while," Fin tells her.

"How long have you known?"

"Maggie told me when Ken got shot," he replies.

"Does anyone else know?" Olivia asks.

"I haven't told anyone," Fin assures her.

I let out a scream then as I cannot take the pain anymore, and feel my knees buckle in front of me before crashing to the floor. I feel something ripping away from me from inside out, and look up to see Olivia and Fin surrounding me, shock on their faces as I feel something attempting to escape from me. I vaguely hear Olivia wiring for a bus, and I grip Fin's arm.

"Nobody can know," I whisper to him, tears coming out of my eyes a mile a minute as I fight the pain.

"What?" he asks me. "About what?"

"I...knew," I whisper, forcing myself to breathe. "Lincoln...he didn't..."

"Why wouldn't you tell him?" Fin whispers to me, holding my head up so as I didn't inadvertently smash it against the floor.

"It's...not his," I whisper to him.

"What do you...?"

"It's...Carisi's," I reply, and blackness greets me then.

I get back into my car, resting my head upon the steering wheel. I remembered how my desire not to expand our family had led to my separation from Lincoln, and how hard we'd had to work to get our marriage back on track. It was around three months after my miscarriage that I told Lincoln about the affair, and he learned about the pregnancy shortly thereafter. On the condition that I told him everything, he'd promised never to bring it up again. I barely remembered that drunken night that Sonny and I had slept together; we had been on a national assignment three and a half weeks before Christmas, and had found ourselves in Dallas, investigating a serial rapist. I hadn't been in Dallas since my affair with Baxter, and it was all very surreal for me as I surveyed the familiar landscape. Sonny, of course, knew about my past history with Dallas, and was incredibly patient and gentle—although the decision to go to a club and get drunk on our last night in Texas probably wasn't a good idea. We soon returned to our accommodations in Irving, TX—I'd splurged and gotten us rooms at the Four Seasons, because I did not, in any uncertain terms, want to stay at the Rosewood Manor again—and went back to our rooms. We were staying in a suite, with separate bedrooms, and soon said goodnight in the living room—after splitting a bottle each of merlot and chardonnay respectively—we went our separate ways for the night.

Sonny came into my room shortly thereafter, and confessed that he and Amanda were having problems with honesty in their marriage. I apologized, and stated that Lincoln and I had found our separation beneficial, although it would not be so for every couple. As I made my way along the road towards home that night, I remembered how it had felt when Sonny had kissed me—different, not as pleasurable as when Lincoln had kissed me, sure—but the alcohol was talking, and the alcohol in me wanted him as much as he did me. After we woke up, tangled in between the sheets, we showered separately and agreed never to discuss it with anyone again—not even Amanda knew.

As I arrived back in Long Island, I realized then that I could no longer live a lie like this—I had to come clean. I parked in my section of the garage and got out of my car, making my way towards Lincoln's and my private entrance so as nobody would see me. I'd had a long day, and I didn't particularly want to be seen or make any excuses or explanations for anything. I walked up the dividing ramp between the guest house and the main house, which is when I thought I heard some giggling behind closed doors. Initially believing it was Chelsea and Miranda wanting some privacy, I was inclined to go back to the main house and forget all about it.

Maybe it was the fact that I saw my mother's spirit, and her warning about Owen's abrupt refusal about being adopted that stopped me. Maybe it was my curiosity about my children's lives that did. I didn't know, but I wanted to know. I stepped closer to the guest house, and peered through the window of the living room. It had been unoccupied since Livi left, but my jaw dropped when I saw it.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

It took all I had not to go on a glass-smashing, door pulling off its hinges rampage when I saw what was going on.

"Do you think they know?" Owen asked.

My eyes lowered automatically to whoever Owen was holding to in his arms, like a drowning man would grip onto a life preserver.

"They will, eventually," Leia replied.

"We'll make it work," he assured her.

Leia smiled up at him, love etched into every facial bone of her face. "I know we will—we just have to keep a lid on it until your birthday."

"That's right—then I'll move out and start college, and you can join me once you're eighteen..."

She touches his chest; thankfully it is hidden by a beautiful sweater that I'd bought for him. "And... You're not sorry that you gave up being adopted? I told you, you could have..."

Owen silences my daughter with a kiss. "I love you," he tells her. "No piece of paper could change that..."

"It would have," Leia tells him.

"You're right—it would've kept us separated forever."

Leia leans down, placing her ear over his heart. "I couldn't let that happen," she says softly to him. "I want you—forever."

Owen holds her tighter. "Forever," he whispers.


	19. The End of the Road

Chapter Nineteen: The End of the Road

"I just can't take not telling Amanda anymore. I know it's a risk—she could fire me for lying to her, or something—but I think that's something I've got to do. I don't want to live a lie anymore, Lincoln..."

My husband pulls me into his arms. "I know you mean well, sweetheart, and god knows I had my reservations about you continuing to work with Sonny after your erm..."

"Indiscretion," I reply bitterly. "You can say it."

He runs his hands along my back. "It took some time, but we moved passed it, sweetheart... And Sonny and Amanda even separated for a while because of their communication issues, and he assured you that it wasn't your fault..."

"But I felt like it was my fault," I reply, pulling back and looking at him with a hint of desperation in my voice. "It was when I got pregnant with Fin that I felt like we were on our way back to normality. All I wanted, all I ever wanted, was to make a life with you, Lincoln..."

"What brought this on?" he asks. "You didn't suddenly wake up this morning and want to disclose a long-buried secret. What happened?"

"I told you that Amanda called me into the squad," I reply. "Well, I made my way over there and she and Sonny said that they had a surprise for me, and then they showed me that Olivia and Fin were in there..."

"That triggered it?"

I nod. "Yeah. You know as well as I do that after that, Liv really did order a mandatory leave for me, and I took some vacation time. We worked on our marriage, and then by the time I came back to work, she'd given the reins of power to Fin. I saw her at Mom's funeral, but we barely spoke to one another at all, because I was so distraught... I never made it a point to reestablish my relationship with her..."

"And Fin?" Lincoln asks.

I shrugged. "He knows about the miscarriage and the secrets behind it," I reply. "I guess I was just afraid that he'd inadvertently say something within earshot of Sonny or Amanda..."

"Why should that matter?"

I look away. "Don't make me say it..."

"Edythe?"

"No." My voice is firm. I get up from the bed and make my way across the room, throwing open the French doors and stepping out onto the balcony. The crisp autumn air cools my senses, and I begin to feel more like myself again. All that comes crashing down when Lincoln joins me, looking out over the water, and I know then that the conversation is not over.

"Tell me," he says quietly.

I pretend to be lost in the water, disassociating myself from the conversation, but still being there enough to answer his question. "Sonny never knew that I was pregnant," I reply.

I was thankful that the next day was Saturday and that I was able to sleep in a bit, and that Lincoln and Thompson handled everything for breakfast. It was when I came downstairs around nine to the scent of hash browns, sausages, and fried eggs that I remembered my hunger. I'd already showered and dressed so by the time I came into the kitchen, everyone was enjoying breakfast.

"Thank you, Thompson," I say to him, taking the offered plate and flashing him a smile before making my way over to the breakfast table and taking my customary seat at its foot. "How is everyone this morning?"

A chorus of "fine" and "good" radiated throughout the table; I noticed then that Leia and Owen were sitting next to each other, and I wondered if their hands were clasped beneath the table. I picked up my napkin from beneath my silverware on the teakwood table, and had just taken a bite of my breakfast when a surprising voice filled my ears.

"Mom?"

I looked up, and quickly smiled at Chelsea; she hadn't called me that yet. "Yeah, sweetheart?" I asked, after I'd swallowed.

"If you're not doing anything today, maybe you and I could hang out," she said softly, almost as if she was thinking that I was going to decline.

I nodded, sipping my specially made strawberry smoothie. "I'd love that," I reply, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "I actually have a couple of errands to run in town, but you could come with me. And we have a few stops to make ourselves, young lady."

Chelsea laughs, nodding before turning back to her breakfast.

Once we'd handed off the dishes to Thompson to be put into the dishwasher, he informed Lincoln and me that our lunches and dinners had been made for the week and that he was heading home. I gave Lincoln a kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs to change as Lincoln paid him. I met Chelsea back out in the hallway and we said goodbye to everyone before we left the house and made our way down the walk towards the garage.

"What sort of errands do you have to run?" Chelsea asked as we got into the car and drove down the drive.

"I've got to go to the mall to get a few things."

"For the upcoming fall and winter?"

"Something like that," I reply as we follow the grove of trees and make it out of the automatic gate before gradually getting onto the highway. "I like to go to the mall every six weeks or so and get something for everyone. Now that there's getting to be a nip to the air, I like to get everyone a new winter coat, boots, hat, gloves, earmuffs, and other things like that."

"Snow boots?" Chelsea asks.

I smile. "Sure—for the men," I reply. "Leia and I—and now Felicity, too—really like fashionable leather boots that go up until at least the knee. And now that you are officially my daughter, I fully intend to get you a pair, too. That is, if you want a pair."

"Yes," Chelsea said, a smile encroaching onto her lips. "I've always admired boots like that—could never afford them, though. Dad—Chuck always made us spend our earnings, well, the ones he'd let us have, anyway, on condoms or makeup or lingerie. You know—to attract the customers."

We get caught behind a mess of cars then, and so I lean over and pull Chelsea to me in a moment of motherly affection. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, sweetheart," I say, kissing her forehead. "Rest assured that Lincoln and I will keep you safe."

Chelsea puts her head upon my shoulder. "Thanks, Mom," she replies as the traffic begins to start up again. "I'll always feel safe with you."

I went into the office on Monday, fully prepared to apologize to Amanda and Sonny for bailing on them in the middle of the work day, but I soon discovered that there were bigger fish to fry. Almost immediately after I sat down at my desk, I got a phone call from ACS, one that made me sick to my stomach.

"You're saying he did what?" I ask into the phone.

"Ex-army lieutenant—he suffers from PTSD, really bad," said the woman on the other end of the phone, with a thick Southern accent. "Anyhow, he raped and murdered his baby daughter."

I fight to continue writing down the atrocious information. "All right... And how old was his daughter?"

"Eleven months," the woman replied.

"And what was her name?"

"Marissa Hanover," the woman said.

"Thank you very much," I reply. "And where is the mother located?"

"She's currently out of town—apparently, she didn't know and still doesn't know that the murder took place. She's a talk show host, and her show was touring around the United States for the past month."

"What was her mother's name?" I ask her, for I can't for the life of me remember a talk show host with the surname 'Hanover'.

"Her mother is Freya Westbrook," the woman replies.

I nearly drop the phone. "You're kidding me," I reply, and raise my eyes to see that Sonny has been watching me the whole time.

"No—top reporter in New York loses her baby to her crazed ex-husband," the woman says, sighing a little. "That's why I think certain ex-husbands shouldn't get visitation rights..."

"Clearly," I reply. "Is she in the morgue now?"

"Yes—at Mercy Hospital," the woman tells me. "The mother is due to come home today from Los Angeles, on flight 522, from LAX to JFK. Her plane is due to land at eleven fifty-eight a.m."

I check my desktop clock and see that it is after ten already. "Thank you very much," I say. We say goodbye and I raise my eyes to Sonny's. "We have to go to JFK to pick up Freya Westbrook."

Sonny nods. "I'll let Amanda know when we're out of here," he says, nodding into her office, where I see she is preoccupied with a phone call.

"Let's fly," I say, and we go as fast as we can downstairs and into the parking garage. We take my car, as it is much cleaner than Sonny's that day as we leave the parking garage and head towards Grand Central Parkway. "I'm really sorry about running out last week," I say quietly to Sonny.

"Yeah—why did you do that?"

I sigh, doing my best to concentrate on my driving. "Because I remembered that thee last time I saw Olivia and Fin was not one of my proudest moments," I say, going through traffic better than a racecar driver.

"What happened?"

I shake my head, swearing at a semi when it cuts me off. "Doesn't matter—not even the slightest bit important."

"Edythe, come on—I've known you since you were a kid. Come on, now. Tell me what's on your mind."

"I can't."

"Why not?" Sonny presses me as we finally rid ourselves of the gridlock in front of us. "You've known me practically forever."

"Let's not do this now," I say. "Freya Westbrook's baby girl died and now we have to kidnap her from the airport, so to speak, and take her to the morgue to identify the body. Not exactly a Monday morning picnic."

"When is her flight getting in?"

"About an hour from now."

Sonny sighs. "Yeah, assuming it's on time, it'll still be morning... But you didn't answer my question, Edythe. What aren't you telling me?"

"Sonny, I really don't want to discuss this right now," I reply, knowing full well that all the secrets and lies will catch up to me eventually. "I really don't want to do any of this right now..."

"Does this have anything to do with me?" he asks.

 _More than you know_ , I think to myself. "Please, Sonny," I say, feeling relief as the typical speed limit is in place again. "No more of this, I promise—you just need to give me some more time..."

"Fine, take your time," Sonny says. "However long you need to let this mull—I can take it. It's fine."

I give him a tight smile as we begin the end of our journey on the highway. "Thank you," I reply.

I can hear the heart monitor beeping in my ears almost immediately when I regain consciousness. My eyes flutter briefly due to the brightness of the lights around me, and my nostrils detect the scent of a sterile environment. Looking around, I see Olivia in a chair beside my bed, and I manage a weak smile in her direction. When she catches sight of me, awake, she pulls her chair closer.

"You gave Fin and I quite a scare—all that blood. The doctors' have cleared you, Edythe... But they did report that you suffered a miscarriage."

I lower my eyes. "Yes, I suspected as much."

"Did Lincoln know?"

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. "Lincoln moved out," I reply.

"What?" Olivia demands, clearly shocked.

I nod. "Yeah. He took the town car but left me Jensen, Fairfield, Thompson, Leia, Felicity, and the house," I reply. "We're going to try to work things out, but with things so hectic in our respective jobs, it's difficult."

Olivia sighs. "Edythe, I'm only asking you this because I feel I have to... You weren't pregnant with Lincoln's baby, were you?"

I shake my head. "No. No, I wasn't."

"Who's the father?"

I pick a bit at my hospital blanket; I was twenty-eight-years-old, and already I'd had more sexual partners that I could count. "It was a one-night, one-time thing," I tell her quietly. "Carisi and I went out of town on assignment and we got really drunk and it just happened..."

"When you were in Dallas following up on the serial?" she asked.

I nod. "Yeah. Like I said, we were really drunk—you know I don't mix well with alcohol, no matter what I may tell myself. The next morning, we had a short discussion and agreed not to talk about it."

"I assume protection wasn't used?"

"You'd be correct," I reply. "I took the morning-after pill, which I'm sure you know has a failure rate of five percent." I slip further down my large pillows. "I suppose that Carisi's fellows certainly are strong, given that this happened." I let out a small sigh. "Look, I understand that I behaved unprofessionally here, Liv, and I'm really sorry. If my career ends here, I'll be upset, but I suppose I could try and understand one day."

She shakes her head. "I'm not going to say anything."

I look up at her. "What?" I ask.

"I've gone out on the limb for you before, Edythe—and that's what family does. I am fully prepared to do so again for you."

I shake my head at her. "You don't have to..."

"I know that," she replies. "I also know that you don't ask for things lightly, and you didn't do so here. Trust me when I say this, Edythe—people like you are hard to come by. Your secrets' safe with me, just as I know yours will be with Fin as well. You don't need to worry about a thing—promise."

I lower my eyes, now awash with tears. "I don't deserve you..."

"And you're humble," Olivia states. "That's bonus material right there."

Sonny and I drive off the parkway and make our way towards the airport directly, my eyes glued to the road and our conversation strictly business. After we show off our badges and ID's to the parking lot security, we are flagged over to the security section of the lot, where our car is put into a safe zone. Upon getting out of the car, we are informed that Freya Westbrook's flight is twenty minutes out, and we are permitted to remain with the security officers until it arrives. When it does, Sonny and I are taken through the staff tunnels and shown to Terminal 7, Gate 19, where Freya Westbrook will be arriving.

We are given an official sign with her name on it and—when all five-feet-eight, curly apricot-colored hair, alabaster skin, hunter-green eyes and red lips—catches a glimpse of us, her perfectly-plucked eyebrows raise considerably. She steps forward, gripping her luggage and the hand of a seven-year-old boy next to her. I notice the quizzical look upon her face, and I wonder then if she has heard any news or if people were kind and didn't offer their apologies. I step forward, thinking that, perhaps, she would take the news better from a woman, as I hand off her name sign to Sonny.

"Miss Westbrook?" I ask her.

"Freya, please," she replies, a lyrical Swedish accent coming forth from her lips. "I don't understand—what's this about?" She is careful to keep a good grip on what I think is her son's hand. "I'm sorry—my son Hugo and I have a very busy schedule today..."

I know that we must approach this whole thing delicately. "Freya, Hugo, my name is Sergeant Edythe Beckett; this is my partner, Lieutenant Dominick Carisi," I tell her patiently. "Why don't we come over here and sit down? We need to speak with you..."

"I'm sorry, I can't," she says, ignoring the obvious showing of our badges. "If you want an autograph, come to the studio tomorrow morning," she calls to us as she attempts to walk away, not releasing Hugo's hand.

"Where are you going?" I ask, taking note of her expensive skirt suit ensemble and how well it matches her luggage.

"If you must know, I have to go pick up my daughter from my son of a bitch ex-husband," she replies impatiently. "The damned courts gave him joint-custody, and I'm not allowed to take her out of New York without his permission."

"Why didn't your ex-husband want joint-custody of Hugo?" Sonny asks, and I want to smack him for being so impertinent.

Freya stops walking. "Well, if you must know, Marissa is his pride and joy, and he didn't really consider Hugo in the matter. Somehow, I have to share our daughter, but our son is mine. I got full-custody of him."

"Moder lämnar vi inte?" Hugo asks his mother, obviously gunning to pick up his sister and to get home.

"Var inte oförskämd, Hugo," she replied patiently.

Sonny looks confused, so I attempt to salvage the situation.

"Allt kommer att bli bra. Alla Carisi och jag vill göra är att hjälpa dig," I say, and immediately their eyes snap to mine in surprise. "Vi vill bara göra våra jobb. Nu behöver vi verkligen två att komma med oss."

"Fine, we'll come with you," Freya says at last, and Sonny offers to take her bag, which is greatly appreciated on her end.

As we continue walking towards the front entrance, I spot a clump of reporters. I look and see that one of them has spotted Freya, and they all immediately begin shouting her name, their flashbulbs going wild. She was the top news reporter for the Today show, and I knew full well that one of them could let loose the tragic news about her daughter. Quickly, Carisi and I manage to flag down a security car, which takes us down a back hallway—and away from all the reporters—back to my car, which we all head to immediately. Sonny stows her suitcase in the back of the car, and gets into the back seat with Hugo so as Freya can ride in the passenger seat beside me.

I dive into the pocket at the back of my seat, showing Hugo a pair of headphones and pressing a button for the Blu-Ray player attached to my car. "If you like, you can watch something," I say, handing over the remote. "The headphones are wireless, and the player has many movies programed to it. I have five kids," I tell Freya, and she is immediately at ease.

"Gå direkt framåt, älskling," she tells Hugo, and he pops the headphones on and selects a movie without being prompted further. "What's on there?" she asks me, still a bit concerned.

"There are child locks on some of the more mature films," I tell her. "I have three teenagers."

"Three teenagers?" she asks.

I nod. "I guess you could say I have six kids—one of them is a foster son, but he doesn't want to be adopted, but my husband and I are still raising him until he ages out of the system on his next birthday... But back to you," I say, putting my key into the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot. "I got a call this morning in our squad from ACS..."

"Damn my husband," Freya says, checking to see that Hugo is fully absorbed in what appears to be _Beauty and the Beast_. "He always tries to stage something whenever I go out of town with Hugo..."

"Stage something?" Sonny asks, confused.

Freya nods. "Yes—he goes onto YouTube and finds makeup tutorials," she says, shuddering. "Then, he'll put makeup onto Marissa and stage it to look like they're old bruises, making me the culprit. Of course, I'd never raise a hand to Marissa, but it's all just a ploy..."

I nod at that, knowing that ex-husbands could be driven to the extreme. "To get full custody of her?" I ask her as we near the exit of the parking lot.

"Yes," she replies, handing Hugo a baseball cap and sunglasses. She tucks her own trademark hair into a floral-patterned scarf and puts on a pair of sunglasses as well as reporters could be lurking around any corner. "Of course, I have an excellent lawyer, and innocence on my side. I can't tell you how many hearings Hugo has had to testify at, all the while attempting to clear my name. I love my children so much, and I must confess that I'm trying to get out of the country to protect both of them..."

"Both of them?" Sonny asks. "But you said that your ex-husband didn't have custody of Hugo..."

"Yes, but he's required to have visitation with him every other weekend for a few hours on Saturdays and one phone call a week. Why do you think I left him?" she asks, slumping against the seat. She takes off her sunglasses, and for the first time, I see deep dark circles beneath her eyes—it made her look much older than her twenty-seven years.

I don't want to ask the question, yet I know that I must. "Did your ex-husband cause harm to Hugo while you were married?"

"Yes," she replies. "He tried to get everyone to believe him that Hugo was molesting Marissa."

"You're kidding," Sonny said, obviously disgusted.

"No, I'm not," Freya replied. "He would stage 'crimes' and try to get Hugo—I don't know—committed or something. But all his plans failed and he was awarded joint-custody of Marissa. He proclaimed that he would always be her hero, but someday, everyone will know the truth..."

"And what's the truth?" I ask her.

"The truth is that _he_ was the one doing all this," Freya replies bitterly. "He was doing everything he accused Hugo of—touching, rubbing, all of it—and I caught him doing it! He beat me and destroyed all the footage I got on the nanny cam. I tried to get the courts to believe me, but he manages to get himself a lawyer almost as good as mine, who convinced everyone that because of his PTSD, he was unable to discern appropriateness within familial relationships. It managed to sway the judge—who had a son in the army—and gave my good for nothing ex-husband joint-custody of our daughter..." Her eyes lock to mine as we enter lunchtime gridlock, and she immediately goes white. "That's why you collected us from the airport today, right?" she asked, her voice shaking. "He's finally gone and done it, hasn't he?"

"Freya..." Sonny began.

"No... No. Just tell me. I don't want any form of sugar-coating—just tell me the truth here, please. Did my husband kill Marissa?"

I grip my steering wheel, forcing myself to retain eye contact with her. "Yes, Freya, yes. And we are so sorry."

Freya let out a scream like a wounded animal, and I make sure I am looking in the backseat then, hoping against hope that Hugo is not watching. But, immediately upon seeing his mother go ridged, he takes off the headphones. He stares at her, open-mouthed, yet seems to put two and two together rather quickly. His dark eyes fill with tears, and he silently cries in the backseat, while his mother screams and howls like a mother wolf.

It takes me back to so long ago, when I myself lost something precious to me. In those black moments, I never thought I'd come out of it...

"Edythe. Edythe! Get up, now!"

"Geen?" I ask, my eyebrows knitting together as I struggle to open my eyes and cover them immediately. "Bright light. Not good."

"Edythe. Wake up. Please."

I sigh and comply, getting into a sitting position and rubbing the last of the sleep out of my eyes. "Eight-thirty?" I say, peering at the clock on my bedside table, its red numbers glaring at me. "A new record for too-little sleep..."

"Edythe. This is serious."

I make a mock-groaning sound. "What? Did Pierre run away?"

"No!" Gina says, swiping my shoulder. "Come on. Serious talking—now."

"What?!" I demand, looking at her.

"Didn't Baxter book a flight out her last night? A red-eye back to Dallas at around one a.m.?"

"No," I reply. "I'd know—I booked it for it. It was Flight Number 1536. Why is it so important?"

Gina sighed, looking grave. "They were flying over Arkansas, almost home. They were flying over the Ouachita National Forest when their radio went dead. The plane was immediately reported missing, until some hikers found it and wired for the sheriff. There were no survivors, Edythe."

"No s...?" I whisper, unable to get the last word out.

She shakes her head. "No. The sheriff was able to get in touch with both airports, and everybody was strapped into their seats. Police went out there—experts in all their fields—and confirmed that everyone was where they were supposed to be, and that there were, honest to god, over eighty confirmed fatalities."

I cover my hand with my mouth, turning away from her. I barely feel the tears coming down my face. I don't speak; how could I?

"I'm so, so sorry, Edythe," Gina whispered, moving to take my hand. "Is that...? I mean... That's not...?"

I sigh and don't look at her. "Yes," I manage to get out. "He asked me to marry him last night and now..." I don't move to hug her for comfort, and she doesn't move to embrace me, and I am all right with that. I am unaware of so many things now, and I wouldn't mind sitting here, like this, for the rest of my life. I am so preoccupied with my likely life of emptiness that I am completely unaware at a knock on the front door. "I'll go," Gina says, getting to her feet; she was wearing her gray ensemble that morning; gray sweats, gray camisole, gray sweater, gray slippers... Her speed is short and quick, as always, as she leaves my bedroom and walks down the hallway, opening the front door quickly. "Hey, Maggie," she says, softly.

"Is Edythe...?"

"Yes, she's in her room. Go right in."

"Thank you, Gina," my mother replies, and I hear her customary footfalls coming down the hallway, and I manage to tuck my hand underneath my pillow, not wishing to take off my last link to Baxter. "Darling?" my mother says, stepping into my bedroom.

I don't look up at her; instead, my face crumples, and I immediately cover my mouth with my other hand to stop the sobs from escaping. I know I shouldn't be reacting so strongly, but...

"Sweetheart," my mother says, crossing my bedroom and embracing me. She rubs my back, and I suddenly remember breaking down in front of her when she brought John Buchanan to save me from prison time. "It's okay. I know, I know, I know..."

"I know," I say quietly. "I know you know..."

"What?" she asks.

I sigh, pulling back from her. "You and Dad have very specific scents," I reply. "I know Dad's particular aftershave, and your perfume," I tell her. "I smelled you last night at the restaurant—you were there."

"Edythe..."

"What? You can take time for each other, but you fall for your new daughter's antics?" I demand. "She _hates_ me, Mom—Viktoriya! That's why I moved out. I don't want to be a part of your life if she's in it."

"You have no right to make that choice," she says, resolutely.

"I do!" I reply. "I make many choices."

"Like what?"

"Like this!" I scream, shoving my hand in her face. I feel my face has reddened, and my eyes are awash with tears.

"Edythe!" she shouts. "You didn't..."

"I did, Mom!" I cry out. "Baxter and I were in love..."

"Oh, dear..." she whispers, standing up and moving away from me.

"What?!" I demand, charging after her. "What is it now?! What could you have possibly have done now, Mother?!"

"I told Stella I saw you together," she admits, and immediately, my anger washes away, and it turns to shock.

"You... You what?" I whisper.

She sighs. "I told her I saw you together and she freaked out. She said she needed to try and find a way to bring Baxter home..."

"She called him," I whisper to her, "when we got back. She called him and said that Harper swallowed rat poison and that—"

"The kids weren't with her last night," my mother replies. "No... No, they were at Sophie's place..."

"No..." I whisper. "No, no..."

"Edythe?" she whispers.

"No!" I scream, my knees buckling as I fall to the ground, screaming. I thrash around, pushing her calming hands away as I scratch at the hardwood floor. "Not him, not Baxter! Not him...!" I scream, covering my face with my hands as my sobs escalate into further screams of anguish.

We drive as quickly as the speed limit allows once the gridlock clears up and make our way to the morgue. Sonny, thankfully, distracts Hugo with the promise of an ice cream cone, and Freya allows her son to go off with him. We go inside the morgue, and I tell Freya to wait as I go in to speak briefly with the medical examiner. He explains that he has sent a report to Amanda, and I thank him for doing so, and he tells me that he's wrapped Marissa's remains up well, and that Freya will be able to see her through the curtains.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Freya has requested a physical, up close and personal, viewing. I know its unorthodox, but you've gotten all the medical information you need, and she would really appreciate saying a proper goodbye to her only daughter."

The medical examiner nods. "Of course. Bring her in whenever she's ready," he says, straightening the sheet covering Marissa's tiny body.

"Thank you," I tell him. I walk back outside, remaining in the doorway. "Freya?" I call out to her, and she looks up at me. "Everything's ready."

She nods, reserved, and enters the room, walking slowly past me. She makes eye contact with the medical examiner, and finally nods to him. "Show me," she says, a shred of hope in her voice that—by some stroke of miracle, it will not be Marissa beneath the sheet.

The medical examiner nods, bringing back the nondescript sheet. Beneath it is probably the most beautiful baby, other than my own, that I've ever seen. Her cheeks had not yet lost their babyhood plumpness, and her lips were as full as her mother's—same elegant nose, too. Her eyelashes swept down onto her cheeks, and she had Freya's curly, apricot-colored hair. There was no doubt in my mind that this was Marissa.

"No..." Freya said, her knees buckling, and I managed to catch her before she fell onto the stone floor. "It's her," she whimpered before turning to me and throwing her arms around me.

I look at the medical examiner, who nods. I return the nod, and gently ease Freya out of the room, shutting the door behind us. "Now, listen to me, Freya," I say to her, pulling back but still keeping a good grip upon her hands. "I want you to listen to me—can you do that?"

She nods. "Yes, I can do that."

"There's a little boy down the street with my partner, and he needs his mother more than ever," I tell her gently. "I'm not going to say don't grieve for Marissa—but don't shut yourself off entirely. You can handle this, I promise you, and you will have Hugo at your side through all of it."

As if like clockwork, Sonny and Hugo arrived in the morgue. Freya turned to look at him, and he promptly ran to his mother. I was pleased to see that he didn't have any ice cream or other offending matter on him, and Sonny said that he'd called Freya a town car to take her home. We walked outside to where my car was, and put her luggage into the trunk of the town car. We waved goodbye to her, and headed back to my car, but it was the sudden ring of my phone which brought me out of my reverie.

"Beckett," I said into my phone.

"Edythe, it's Amanda. Where are you and Sonny?"

"Just left the morgue, in my car," I say. "We can be back there in ten minutes. Is there anything wrong?"

"Plenty," she replied. "Just get back here."

"On our way," I reply. "Apparently, something's wrong," I say, and move to stick my key into the ignition.

"Amanda can wait," he said softly, catching my hand. "Tell me—what's bothering you, Edythe?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No," he replied. "You might as well just tell me."

I stick my key into the ignition and pull out of the parking garage for the morgue and get onto the busy streets. "Go into my glove compartment," I reply from between my teeth as I try to stop my tears from flowing.

"What am I looking for?" Sonny asks as he opens it.

I make my way around a line of parked cars. "That family photo—I have a bunch of them in the from our vacation last summer," I reply.

Sonny picks one up. "What about it?"

I nod at it. "There's your answer—it's all there, in the photo," I reply as we make it into the SVU parking garage. "If you can't find it, Sonny, let me know. Otherwise, we will have never had this conversation. I apologize in advance," I say, feeling utterly and completely wretched. We head upstairs, and I feel immense relief when Sonny merely pockets the photo and doesn't continue to ask me about it. We head directly into Amanda's office, and she throws a stack of papers our way, much to our confusion.

"What the hell is all this?!" Sonny demands, looking them over.

"Read it and weep," she replies.

Bending over, I pick up a few, and feel my eyes popping. "You're not kidding here, are you?" I ask, looking up. "These aren't faked?"

"TARU sent them over twenty minutes ago," she replies.

"'You don't have the balls to do it,'" Sonny says, reading from one of them. "'All I know is, that this'll be the best thing that's ever happened in my career. Don't you dare screw it up for me.'"

"This one says, 'We got the official diagnosis today! Whoop-de-doo! My good-for-nothing ex-husband has officially been labeled crazy. Now all we have to do is continue to tell him that he doesn't have the guts to do it—to kill his pride and joy.'"

"I've got one here, 'You limp, lazy son of a bitch. Makeup tutorials—really? I knew you were gross; I didn't know you were a homo, too.'"

"Disgusting," I reply to Sonny before looking at another one. "This next one that I've got says, 'I know that they're going to fall for it—hook, line, and sinker. All I have to do is play the part of the grieving mother, and then I'll go down in history as being better than Nancy Grace, Hoda Kotb, or anyone else who dares to call themselves a news anchor.'"

"You know what this means?" Amanda asks.

"I certainly do," Sonny replies, slumping in a chair in the corner of the room, defeated.

"I do, too," I reply, lowering my paper. "It means, we've been had!"


	20. No Tomorrow

Chapter Twenty: No Tomorrow

"Do you want us to arrest her?" I ask Amanda. We are still standing, dumbstruck, in her office. The sun has been covered by the clouds, and for the first time, it truly seems as if November has arrived. I am still gripping onto the paper, which has been crumpled, due to me shaking in anger.

Amanda shakes her head. "Lincoln would say that all we've got is some text messages. It's enough for questioning..."

"...and a warrant?" Sonny asks, looking up for the first time.

"That depends on Lincoln," Amanda replies, leaning up against her desk as she mulls it over. "What do you think, Edythe?"

"Are you asking me if my husband will give us a warrant to potentially search the house of Freya Westbrook?" I ask.

Amanda nods. "Yes."

I give her a half-smile and take out my phone. "Nothing a little phone call won't fix," I say. I press the green phone icon and place the phone up to my ear. It rings four times before Lincoln answers. "Hi, honey," I say, turning away when I see that Sonny looks uncomfortable with my display of affection for my husband, and a flush proceeds to bloom on my cheeks. "It seems as though we've hit a snag with our investigation about Freya Westbrook," I tell him.

"What is it?"

"Her text messages look like she was in cahoots with someone who could force her ex-husband to lapse into madness," I reply. "From what we can glean from the pages we've got, she wants a good, juicy news story."

"Sickening," my husband replies. "Do you need a warrant?"

"That would be lovely," I reply.

"No problem," Lincoln tells me. "I can get you her apartment, her house, and her work office slash dressing room. Will that do for now?"

"Yes, thank you," I reply, turning and flashing Amanda and Sonny a thumbs-up. "I suppose you'll send it directly?"

"In a flash," he replies.

"Thank you."

"I love you," he says.

"I love you, too," I say quickly, feeling annoyed as Sonny tries to pretend to be interested in another piece of paper. "See you later, bye." I turn promptly to Amanda, who is waiting for the answer. "He can get us her apartment, her house, and her office and other work spaces."

"Amazing," Amanda says, nodding; she quickly begins her procedure of master calculations in her mind, wondering where to send who were. "You and Sonny head to her house—she's probably back there by now. I'll go with Darcy to her office and then swing by her apartment afterwards. Sound like a plan?"

"Loud and clear," Sonny says, getting to his feet and walking to Amanda, before pulling her towards him and kissing her, causing me to pretend to be distracted by the wood paneling along the wall.

"We'll see you later," I say, walking out of the office.

"Jealous?" Sonny asks as we walk down the hallway.

"Don't," I reply as we head back downstairs to my car. "What we do with our spouses is none of our business. No need to make it awkward or uncomfortable for one another. Besides, it's not as if we ever had anything. Like we said—in the _one_ conversation we had about it—it didn't mean anything to either of us. Right?" I ask as I unlock my car.

"Right," Sonny replied, averting his eyes and getting in.

Sonny and I were shocked to learn that Freya hadn't yet returned to her house in Westchester County, about twenty minutes from my childhood home. We parked on the stone driveway and got out, finding a key to the house in an expensive potted plant near the front door. We stepped inside, being sure to disable the alarm before it went off and walked through the house, looking around at the expensive paintings and furniture around the place.

"You see if you can find a bedroom, okay?" Sonny asks. "I'll take any office spaces she's got. Okay?"

"No problem," I reply, not wanting to argue with him as he began searching the ground floor. I made my way to the beautiful staircase, walking up it and poking around on the top floor. The carpet was only bolted to the center of the floor, much like a runner, and was an attractive cream color, next to the wood, which I realized was the same apricot tint as Freya's hair. _Ultimate vanity_ , I thought to myself as I opened an elaborately paneled door and poked my head inside. _Jackpot_ , I said to myself as I entered the master bedroom.

I walked towards the cream-colored nightstand on one side of the bed, opening the drawer after snapping on a pair of gloves to continue my work. Dipping my hands into its contents, I overturned some of the stacks of paper inside it, seeing various TV award shows and ratings, and saw that Freya's segment was one of the most-watched morning programs of any season. However, her ratings and viewers had been declining by point-two percent over the last years and a half, and it was then that the paper trail began.

I set these papers in a stack before getting out an appropriately-sized evidence bag and sealed them inside before continuing my search. In the second nightstand—on the other side of the bed—I peered into the larger drawer at the bottom, after finding the top drawer empty. I found a chrome lockbox inside, and popped it open, finding a gun in there. Raising my eyebrows, I looked for registration paperwork, but couldn't find any. I knew that I had to check and see if it was indeed registered before seizing it, so I returned it to its proper place, making a note to ask about it later.

I felt under the covers and the pillows of the bed, but found nothing. Then, an idea came to me so I went to the doorway. "Sonny!" I called. "Need your help with something up here!"

Sonny came upstairs immediately. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Help me lift this," I said, indicating the mattress.

"Good idea," he replied, walking over to the other side.

With Sonny's help, I managed to do my part almost effortlessly, and my jaw dropped when I saw the mattress' underside. It was stained with blood—an old stain, if I was judging it correctly. I reached out with my gloved hand, and lightly touched it, trying to figure out the pattern. "Oh, my god!" I shouted, and Sonny's eyes locked to mine. "Something's inside!" I cried out, feeling for the edges of whatever it was before slicing it open with my knife. I catch the body as it falls, which is then that I see that the top of the mattress had been sliced. I turn the body over, and shallow breathing immediately turns into larger gulps. "I'm Sergeant Edythe Beckett," I say gently to the young girl. "Can you tell me who you are and what your name is?"

"Agnes," the girl manages to wheeze out. "Agnes Westbrook..."

"Are you Freya's younger sister?" Sonny asked.

Agnes turned to him in shock. "No. I'm her daughter—her older daughter... I'm eleven-years-old..."

"But Freya's twenty-seven," Sonny said quietly.

"Freya was a teenage mother," I say with absolute certainty. "Where were you born, sweetheart?"

"Stockholm," she replies. "My mother and I moved here when I was two. Then she met James Hanover, and they got married. I was sent away to school, because he hated me so much. I came back last week—I misbehaved because I was tired of being so far away..."

"It's all right, sweetheart," I tell her gently. "We're going to get you some help," I say, nodding to Sonny to wire for a bus. "We'll get you somewhere safe, clean, and comfortable. Then we'll call your mother and Hugo and then we can all sit together and have a lovely chat."

"No!" Agnes shouts, throwing herself into my arms. She had a little tank top on, dirtied with her own blood, plus a pair of shorts.

"Agnes, what's wrong?" I asked, holding her close. "Everything's going to be all right, love..."

"No, it won't!" Agnes said, sobbing into my arms.

Sonny managed to get ahold of someone on his walkie. "Manhattan SVU to Central, we're in Westchester County," he said, and proceeded to give the dispatchers the address of Freya's "estate". "We need a bus immediately—minor female, eleven-years-old—severe condition," he says, looking at me with his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

As I run my hands gently along Agnes's back to comfort her, I can feel wetness which frightens me. Upon further examination, I see that she has been knifed in the back several times.

When help arrives, I throw Sonny my keys and hop into the back of the ambulance with Agnes. They EMT's promptly put her on oxygen and sedate her, and we are bound for Mercy Hospital immediately thereafter. They wire the hospital, once they know the extent of her injuries, and tell the fellow dispatchers that she has been upgraded to priority one. I manage to see her signal for me to take her hand just before she falls asleep, and remember my last time in an ambulance like this one...

"I'm here, baby," my mother whispered, kissing my forehead as they proceed to move the stretcher up the stairs and into the street to meet the ambulance. "You can ride along, Liv. Can you? I mean...please," she begs.

"Rollins!" Olivia calls, and Amanda turns, nodding to me as Olivia crosses over to her. "I'm going to ride along..."

"Okay. I'll call Fin to finish up here."

"Thanks," Olivia says, crossing back towards me and going up the rest of the stairs before hopping into the ambulance beside me.

"What can you tell me?" my mother asks one of the EMT's.

"Vaginal trauma, I'm afraid," she replies.

 _No shit, Sherlock_ , I think to myself.

"No," my mother whispers, coming undone then and proceeding to bawl her dread off, as Olivia throws a supportive arm around her shoulders as we tear through the streets towards Mercy Hospital. I really wish my mother would force myself to calm down; there can be time for all this emotional trauma later. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," she says, clearing my throat and sitting a bit straighter in her seat. She runs her hands through her hair, before turning back to the EMT. "Please. Go on," she says, and I mentally cross my fingers that she won't cry again.

"The doctors will know more, but the tearing suggests that the man was rough with her but..." She sighs a little. "Your daughter wasn't a virgin, Captain Holbrook. I assume you weren't aware of this information?" I nip the inside of my lips at the anger this woman is bringing me, and notice that my mother has done the same. She is trying desperately to keep her cool, I see that now, and I know that me having an outburst right now wouldn't help anything at all in this situation...

"My daughter was adopted, ma'am," my mother replies slowly. "My husband and I adopted her because her mother's parental rights were terminated because her mother allowed her own boyfriend to rape Edythe. So, yes, I knew that Edythe had been raped, but she was still a virgin, and considered herself to be one."

The woman looks taken aback by her words and immediately goes to work on trying to stop my bleeding. Finally, we arrive at the hospital and my mother is told to tell them my blood type, which is AB-positive. I know my mother is headed down to the Blood Bank as they take me back to give a pint of blood in order for them to better save me. I feel weaker after the blood is given to me, but I am going on automatic pilot. I know full well that I have to survive this—there's a whole big world out there, and I'm going to be one person to see it.

"Amanda got ahold of Freya," Sonny tells me in a rush when I'm ordered to leave the room where they're working on Agnes. "She and Hugo are coming and should be here shortly."

"No," I say firmly, taking him aside and bringing him into a silent hallway. "We can't have Freya anywhere near Agnes right now."

"What are you talking about?" Sonny asks. "Freya's her mother... It's all the trauma, Edythe. Trust me—Agnes wants to see her mother."

"No, she doesn't—you don't understand!" I say in a stage whisper. "Sonny, Agnes told me that Freya was the one who did this to her."

"What are you talking about?" Sonny asks me.

I sigh. "Apparently, when Agnes managed to 'escape' from her private boarding school, James beat her up. As she was recovering from the blows, her mother came in to comfort her and told her not to mind James. Well, Hugo was crying from some nightmare or other and Freya went to go check on him. Agnes picked up her cell phone to play on some game apps and saw all the text messages about Marissa, and got scared. She told her mother about what she'd seen, and Freya panicked and stabbed her, then put her in the mattress to effectively keep her quiet. Sickening, I know," I say, shaking my head.

"And you didn't feed any of this to her?" Sonny asks me.

"No," I reply. "Agnes directly quoted no less than six of the messages from the pages we got," I reply. "Nobody knew about that—not even we did before this afternoon, and you know that."

"Attempted murder, then?" Sonny asks.

I sigh. "That's up to the DA..."

"You mean Lincoln," Sonny replies bitterly. "It's up to Lincoln."

"What is your problem with Lincoln?!" I ask him point blank. "I don't know why it is, Sonny, but you've never been his biggest fan. And ever since Dallas, you've seemed to almost hate him! I don't get it..."

"There are lots of things I don't get either," he replies as I turn to see Amanda coming around the corner with Freya and Hugo in tow. "Maybe when you cough up some information, so will I."

"Don't do this now," I hiss through my teeth. "Freya, Hugo," I say. "The doctors have given me some information about Agnes. They're working on her now, so why don't we get something to drink? We won't know anything for a while, so why don't I catch you up?" I say, turning to Sonny and nodding in Amanda's direction so as he will know what to convey to her.

"Thank you, that sounds wonderful," Freya replies as I turn back to her. "Do you know where the cafeteria is?"

"Of course, just down this hallway," I say, leading her away from Sonny and Amanda and especially away from Agnes's room. "I didn't know you had an older daughter," I said conversationally to Freya.

She sighed, nodding. "Yes. My father, he..." She looks up then, seeing the doors to the cafeteria, and reaches into her purse, getting a twenty-dollar bill from her Prada wallet. "Hugo älskling, skaffa dig något bra medan jag får ett bord och prata med Edythe, okej?"

"Ja, Mamma," Hugo replies, taking the offered cash and making his way across the cafeteria to the kitchen area.

"My father wasn't a real father to begin with," Freya tells me softly as we get a table in the back corner of the place, by a window. "After my mother died when I was twelve, I just focused mainly on school. By fourteen, I had taken a part-time job in a laundry not too far away from our small home because my father was busy getting drunk. I had to feed myself and pay the bills—I was exhausted and starving half the time, but I managed to make things work. I had a boyfriend the following year, but my father didn't appreciate me having male company at all. He took to bringing the drink home with him, and one night, threw my boyfriend out of the house. He raped me that night, and many nights afterwards; when I finally told my boyfriend about it, he was fully prepared to put a stop to all of it by asking me to marry him. My father had forbidden such a thing, and killed my boyfriend. I called the police and he was taken away, and I managed to keep the house. But after I found out I was pregnant, I decided to keep the baby—I didn't know what else to do, about any of it. When I finally got a Visa for America, I left everything behind and took my Agnes with me..." She sighs, dashing a tear from her eye. "I named her after my mother." "What happened to him?" I ask her softly, turning to make sure that Hugo wasn't coming back to the table—Freya's body language indicated deception, and I didn't want Hugo to be privy to any of it. "Your father? I assume he was convicted of murder and sent to prison..."

Freya nods. "He was, yes. He got eighteen years to life, although I hope life means life here in this situation. I don't want him coming over here and ruining the life I've built for myself and for my children..."

I turn to see that Hugo has paid for everything and is making his way towards us. I thank him for the bottle of water he's bought me—it is a safe choice, as he couldn't be aware of my likes and dislikes when it came to beverages, due to the custom-made tea I see Freya is going to be drinking. "Thank you, Hugo," I say to him, and he gives me a small smile and nods.

While Freya begins sipping at her tea, and Hugo at his orange juice, I turn to see Sonny and Amanda stepping into the cafeteria. I wave them over, and they come and sit down, while Sonny strikes up a conversation with Hugo. Amanda comes and sits beside me, and I clandestinely open my notepad app on my phone. I quickly type something out, and show it to her, the words, _Freya's confessed that her father killed her boyfriend in Sweden, and is Agnes's father. We should probably look into that_.

Amanda gives me a discreet nod, and turns to listen to something that Hugo is saying to her.

"Is your badge different than Sergeant Edythe's and Lieutenant Sonny's, Captain Amanda?" he asks her.

She smiles at him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is." She leans back and unpins it from her belt loop, beside her gun, and hands it over to him. "That's a captain's badge for the NYPD," she explains patiently.

"Ranks are very important," Freya tells Hugo.

Immediately, he becomes ridged and stares into the pulp-filled pools of his orange juice in front of him. "I know, Mamma," he replies quietly.

I know we're always curious to know about where it is we truly come from. I also remember that, being adopted, I would only get some of the puzzle in place, but I remembered the day that my mother gave me some of her story. I was a teenager, and unknowing about certain things, yet I also knew that everything would now be different after one conversation...

"Mom, I was trying to talk to you," I say, gently putting my hand upon her wrist as she comes into the kitchen. "I've been clean for seven months and three weeks, and you've only let me leave the house for those AA meetings. They're so depressing," I say, shaking my head, heading over to the refrigerator and getting out Greek yogurt and blueberries, before shutting the door behind me. Then I fetch the jar of honey from the pantry and a bowl and a spoon before taking it to the kitchen bar. "Mom?"

She sighs, turning off the water; I notice her hands, so chapped from doing so many dishes over the past three months. She tried to keep busy around the house throughout the summer, as she was put on a mandatory vacation. "Yeah, I know that, sweetheart," she says, drying her hands as she turns around to face me. "It's just a difficult time right now. The morgue is due to release your father's body at the end of the week and then the funeral arrangements will be planned..."

"Tell me why they couldn't have just done that whole autopsy thing right away, please," I say, my mouth full.

"The best of the best were still knee-deep in the whole investigation regarding the Boston Marathon bombings," she replies patiently, knowing full well that we'd gone over this initially.

"He's going to die," I predicted.

She blinked, apparently shocked at my flat tone.

Ever since rehab and my addiction being made common knowledge, gone forever was my happy-go-lucky behavior. Instead there was a serious young woman in her place, who had finished her senior year of high school by mail—well, online—over the summer. Now, at only fifteen years and eight months, I'd stated that I wanted to wait until my next birthday before beginning college classes. I was glad that my mother seemed fine with this, as I was researching which colleges I would be potentially matched with program-wise, applying for scholarships, writing various essays, and really considering a career-path for myself.

"So, sweetheart, how's the college hunt coming?" she asks, pouring herself a cup of tea and ruffling Livi's hair as Helena brought them into the kitchen and placed them in their highchairs.

"Fine," I reply. I dips her spoon back into the yogurt, taking a slow bite as I mull over my next words very carefully. "I've been thinking a lot about where I want to go and what I want to do and stuff."

"And stuff?" she asks. "What kind of stuff?" she says, bending down and kissing Donnie's head as she waits for my response. "Yeah, really buckling down," I continue. "I'm trying to think at what would be the best possible option for me... I suppose a therapist of some kind would be good, given my own demons may help me sympathize with my client..."

"Uh-huh," she replies.

"...and John Buchanan was so inspiring," I continue, staring off into space for a moment as I continues musing. "A lawyer in New York..."

"Also a good career choice," she encourages me, "and you have the kind of grades a law school would want..."

"But I really think..." I shake my head, convincing myself that it was a terrible idea. "Forget it. It's stupid."

"Nothing is stupid," my mother tells me firmly. "Come on. Tell me."

I scrape the bottom of my bowl, getting out the last bite of yogurt before getting to my feet. I rinse out my bowl and puts that and its spoon into the dishwasher before letting out a little sigh and turning back to her. I am wearing my favorite orange sweater with my favorite pair of high-waisted skinny jeans and a pair of chestnut-colored Uggs I'd insisted that she buy me over the summer. My orange sweater is one of those scoop-neck things that folds over onto itself, thus exposing the camisole I have beneath it. "I was thinking about starting college as soon as possible," I reply. "Classes don't start for about a week and a half and I could still get in..."

"Sweetheart, we agreed that you didn't have to..."

"No, Mom. Please. Just hear me out."

She smiles. "Of course, darling," she says, leaning back against the counter. "Go ahead. I want to hear."

"I've enrolled at Westchester Community College," I reply. "I want to get my Associate's Degree and then my Bachelor's Degree... And then I want to join the police academy."

She nearly drops her teacup—I'd been afraid of a reaction like that. "The police academy?"

"Yes." I nod. "I know what I want. I want to get my degrees and then my plan is to be accepted by twenty-one, if not earlier," I say quickly. "You always said that your degrees were beneficial on the job, right?"

She nods. "Yes. Of course, I knew other languages as well..."

"Well, I know English, French, and Spanish—and I'm learning Mandarin," I tell her quickly. "And you know that I know Swedish as well," I say, delicately, for that piece of information was gleaned from my interrogation by John Buchanan. "I _want_ to join the police academy, Mom. Dad—he always said I'd make a good cop."

"A beat cop?" she asks me, and I wonder if she thinks that this is all I'm good for, but I decide to continue to persuade her instead.

"No." I shake my head. "I want to be a detective of Special Victim's Unit, Mom, because _I_ was a special victim. I want to help those who were able to help me—I want to return the favor."

She shuts her eyes. "Which SVU?" she asks me, greatly daring.

"Manhattan," I reply, proudly.

She turns to Helena as her eyes snap open. "Please watch the twins while I have a word with my daughter," she says levelly, before setting her teacup aside and taking me by the arm and bringing me upstairs to my bedroom. "Edythe, I think it's great you want to be a cop, and work SVU—just please... Don't work Manhattan, I'm begging you..."

"Why?" I ask, shocked. "Olivia's your best friend..."

She sighs. "Yes, I know that, but..." She shakes her head at me; she is conflicted about something, I see that now. "You don't understand..."

I reach out and touch her arm. "I'll never understand if you refuse to explain it all to me," I say softly. "I've driven you to hell and back again, Mom—and you still love and are there for me. No matter what it is, I promise, I'll be here for you," I say, and I hope she does tell me—something, at least.

She nods, and a sudden realization clouds her beautiful face. "Okay. But don't you dare tell anyone—only Don knows about this, and your father."

"I promise," I reply, full of anticipation.

She reaches out then, gripping my hands. "Olivia is my birth mother," she tells me quietly.

Amid all the planning for bringing charges against Freya, and looking into Stockholm's murder database as well, I managed to carve myself out some time to create a double birthday party, for Leia's seventeenth and Fin's eighth. I feel like a fraud as I watch Thompson frost two different cakes, in my new custom-made party dress, as I mull over what possibilities could happen on that day. When the guests arrived—including some ADA's and their children, Darcy, Sonny, Amanda, Olivia, Fin, and all of Leia's and our Fin's friends—I felt more at ease, although I soon felt as if things had the capacity to unravel.

I manage to pull Lincoln aside as Fin enthralls everyone at the party with some of his non-confidential, PG-rated stories of going undercover. I pull him upstairs while everyone is watching my former mentor, and find that I am shaking. "I can't do it anymore, Lincoln—the secrets. I have it on good authority that Sonny is beginning to suspect, and me dropping hints about it for the last three weeks hasn't helped anything."

Lincoln nods. "You're right—he has to know." He runs a hand through his still-dark hair. "You don't think that Amanda would fire you over this, would she?" he wants to know.

I shake my head at him. "She can't."

"How do you figure?"

"Because Amanda has announced her retirement," I reply. "She told Sonny and me last week that either him or I will be the successor. Of course, after this, I wouldn't be surprised if Sonny fired me, too, but we'll make it work. Just a little juggling, and I still have that million that we haven't touched from Baxter's will. Who knows, Lincoln? Maybe I can get out of this..."

"Why don't I tell Sonny that I need to see him in the guest house to go over some paperwork to bring in Freya, and then you go in my place and tell him that I got called away?"

I roll my eyes. "Very cliché of you, Lincoln," I say, putting my arms around his neck and letting a chuckle escape my lips. "But I like it."

He grins down at me, rewarding me with a kiss. "You head over there now, and go around the place and into the door via the back bedroom. I'll send Sonny over there within five minutes."

"Be careful," I say as Lincoln walks away from me. "Even if it's strictly business, honey, be careful. You know he's never liked you."

Lincoln kisses me again. "I think I'll be all right."

I nod at him as he walks away from me. "I know you will be," I tell him. As soon as I've heard him walk down the stairs, I make my way towards the master bedroom, where the entrance to the ramp and the back staircase is. I put my hand upon the doorframe, when a memory clouds my vision once again...

I deliberately unzip the back of my dress hastily, draping it across the chair at the vanity and crossing the room, opening the door wide and pretending to be shocked at Baxter seeing me, even though we're the only ones in the house. "Are you all right?" I ask him.

He takes one look at me and is hit with a bolt of desire—I can see it in his eyes. He steps forward, gently contacting my fingers as they rest upon the frame of the door, taking me in fully, and shuddering at the sight of me in my lingerie. "I'm sorry... I know we shouldn't but I..."

"What?" I ask him when he hesitates.

He sighs. "This may sound totally cliché, but Stella didn't leave to go see Sophie—she went to go see Jasper."

I raise my eyebrows, utterly confused. "I don't understand. You said that Jasper was in China..."

"I lied," he says, cutting across my words. "Sophie's in China—we're all lawyers here, that's how we know each other."

"So, you're saying that Stella and Jasper are...?"

"Having an affair, yes," Baxter says.

"How long has this been...?"

"Since just after Harper was born—they're all mine, the kids. But after Harper was born, she couldn't make love to me at all. Then she told me that Jasper was helping her get through her grief and I believed her but then I discovered the affair. I told her that I didn't care, if I was afforded the same treatment..."

"She gets to sleep with Jasper, and you get to sleep with whoever you want as a result?" I ask him.

"Yes." He steps forward, and looks reluctant to speak further, and almost seems to force himself to do so. "I'll always care for Stella, but there's no love there, not anymore. She killed it," he whispers, reaching out and grabbing me by my waist and pulling me towards him, so as our bodies are melded together. "I don't care how weird it is—we aren't related, only by marriage, and you were adopted. Plus, you're eighteen and, if I'm not mistaken, you've been flirting with me all night, now haven't you?"

I feel a delicious giggle erupting through me; this man in his forties was coming onto me, someone who just so happened to be a very convincing dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey. It felt so, so wrong, but there was a form of forbidden desire here, which made it even more tempting. I'd never been with a married man before, and it was always something I'd thought about, especially during my rebellious teen years, and ever since I'd met this guy, my technical uncle. "You'd be right," I whisper.

Baxter chuckles. "I love being right," he says, and our lips meet. He shuts the door behind us and lifts me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

 _This is wrong_ , I immediately think, _and so unhealthy_... But I didn't care—I hadn't had sex in over three years and I needed this. Besides, it was only a marriage down on paper now, right? And I was over eighteen, so it wasn't like we were breaking any governmental laws, just moral ones.

Shaking Baxter from my mind, I throw open the back door of the master bedroom and shut it quickly behind me. I dash to the back staircase, nearly stumbling on my high heels as I troop through the grass and towards the back entrance of the guest house, feeling like a criminal on my own property. I dash up the second staircase on the other side, throwing open the door and waiting in the back bedroom for Sonny to arrive via the main door.

The telltale sound of the main door squeaking erupts in my ears seconds later, and I hear footsteps on the hardwood floor, going soft as they hit the expensive carpet Lincoln and I had bought specifically for the front room. "Lincoln?" Sonny calls out, and my heart leaps with anticipation. "You here?"

I sigh, knowing that it is now or never with this confrontation. I step out of the bedroom and down the hall, my heels clicking on the floor as I make my way out and into the front room. "Sonny..."

He sighs. "What is this, an ambush?" he demands. "Look, if you want to talk about the whole, 'Who's going to be the next captain of Manhattan SVU' then don't bother!" he says, annoyed. "Clearly, we know who the best one is for the job here, Edythe," he tells me, speaking harshly, almost as if he was speaking to someone who had barely left diapers.

I put my hands over my face briefly before running them through my hair. "Sonny, it's not that, I promise. It's personal."

He sighs. "Sorry," he says. "But I was talking about you, by the way. It would be an honor to serve under you."

I shake my head at him. "You won't think so in about five seconds..."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Look, I know it's not a good time—well, it'll never be a good time—to tell you this, but, you and I need to have a conversation about Dallas."

He sighs, leaning up against the doorframe. "What do you want to discuss?" he asks me. "Other than the fact that you and I decided not to discuss that night ever again..."

"That's the thing about one-night-stands," I reply. "They always come back to haunt you...especially if things don't work."

"Wait... What?" he demands.

I bite my lip. "I took the morning after pill," I tell him quietly. "But apparently, your boys are stronger than that."

"What are you saying?" he asks me.

"I'm saying that I was pregnant," I reply. "I was pregnant, and I had a miscarriage a few months after that. Pre-eclampsia," I say.

Sonny sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Obviously, that was your choice, but I would've wanted to be there for you..." He crosses the room and pulls me into an awkward hug. "I'm really sorry..."

"No, you don't get it," I say, shaking my head and pulling away from him. "I was pregnant—with twins," I say, desperation creeping into my tone.

"Twins?" Sonny demands, shocked, locking eyes with mine. "Where is it? Tell me, Edythe—where's the other baby? Did you put it up for adoption...?"

"Him," I reply. "It's a boy."

"So, you had him?" he asks. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

I nod. "Yes, he's fine," I reply, sucking in a bit of breath for a moment of courage as I proceed to spill the beans on a secret almost a decade old. "It's Fin," I tell him softly, leaning a bit on one of the couches for support. "Didn't you ever wonder why his middle name was 'Dominick'?"

Sonny shakes his head, trying to do math. "Wait a minute... Our one-night-stand in Dallas was in December..."

I nod at him. "That's right."

"But you told everyone... You and Lincoln announced Fin's birth in November... I mean, it's his birthday right now..." I shake my head. "We forged the paperwork," I reply. "Fin was born in September, nine months after what happened in Dallas," I tell him patiently. "I've been feeling guilty about this for years—I've carried the weight of the shame of this lie. And ever since Amanda called me into her office and demanded to know if we were having an affair, I knew I needed to come clean." I sigh, waiting for a moment before continuing, "Look, if you want to fire me, I wouldn't blame you. I am a liar and I deceived so many people. I can't live that way anymore, Sonny... I'm sorry I kept Fin away from you, and you can see him as much as you want, but I'm sure you know that he thinks of Lincoln as his father, and tearing him away from this environment would only hurt him, and I know you wouldn't want to do that, now would you?" I ask, knowing that it was my job to keep families from tearing apart, and was looking at it from a psychological point of view, and not a manipulative point of view.

Sonny quickly blinks back the tears and nods. "No, no I get it, Edythe, I do." He sighs, nodding to himself. "Maybe we'll tell him when he's older..."

I nod at him. "Yeah, we can tell him when he thinks he's seventeen, but we'll know that he's eighteen," I muse to myself, leaning up against the opposite wall from Sonny.

Sonny sighs, nodding again. "Okay," he replies, turning to open the door behind him. "Oh, and Edythe?"

"Yeah?" I ask, turning to look at him.

"You think the sound of Captain Beckett of SVU sounds good?" he asks with a chuckle as he walks through the door, leaving it open for me to follow him back to the party.

"Hello and welcome to the Today Show, I'm Freya Westbrook," says Freya from behind the camera, and Sonny and I are watching the whole thing. "In recent news, I would like you all to know that my beloved Agnes, my oldest child, has made a full recovery. She will be released from Mercy Hospital later on this afternoon. My son Hugo and I are quite pleased to welcome her back into our home, into what _People Magazine_ called, 'A warm, safe, and loving environment' when they did a profile on my family a year ago. As I'm sure you remember, my ex-husband was still in the picture at the time, and he is set to be tried in the murder of our baby daughter, Marissa, within the week. Also in the news..."

"Almost believable," Sonny muses from beside me.

Suddenly, my mind clicks. "She wanted better ratings, right?"

Sonny turns to look at me. "Yeah. Why?"

I suppress a chuckle, now wanting to ruin any footage. "What if we arrested her, here and now, on camera? We weren't told not to do so, and that would spike the ratings considerably..."

Sonny turns briefly back to Freya, and nods to himself. "Your call, captain," he tells me with a smile.

"Hey, you know as well as I do that I just make lieutenant last week," I say, shaking my head at him. "Although I'm surprised Amanda didn't ask me for my resignation after you told her about Fin."

He shrugs. "We're getting a divorce."

I turn to look at him. "Sonny, I'm so sorry..."

He shakes his head. "Don't be—it was a long time coming, anyway. We fight all the time, and we can never manage to make time for each other. Just goes to show you that married couples who are both in law enforcement don't always mix. You and Lincoln being the exception..."

"And my parents," I reply, warmth filling me as I remember meeting them...

"Hey, sweetheart!" Maggie says, getting to her feet and holding out her arms to me, and I promptly dash forward and hops into her arms to hug her properly as the social worker shakes their hands but moves to give us some privacy. "Wow, your hair is just getting longer and longer," she says, lifting up the long, wavy black mane of what is my hair.

"I like it long," I tell her.

"Well, it makes you look like a princess," Hunter tells me, bending down for a hug for himself.

I laugh, launching herself into his arms. "Thank you!" I say, my voice a heartfelt soprano which ends on a musical laugh as he lifts me up.

"Edythe, Hunter and I have something we'd like to discuss with you," Maggie says, taking my hands from where I am in Hunter's arms.

"Am I in trouble?" I ask, my brow furrowing in concern.

"No of course not," Hunter says quickly.

"Not at all," Maggie tells me. "Actually, it's a good thing."

"How is it good?" I want to know.

Maggie grins up at me; I have always been an inquisitive little thing. "How would you like to become a permanent member of Hunter's and my family?"

"Permanent?" I ask. "Like a marker?"

"Sort of like a marker," Hunter says, laughing.

"We'd like to adopt you," Maggie tells me. "Hunter and I would like to be your mother and father..." "Yes!" I squeal, throwing my arms around her in the enthusiastic manner that any child should, and I feel immediately safe as Maggie takes me into her arms. "Do you mind I call you 'Mama'?" I ask her. "I used to call my mom 'Mom'..." I say quietly, and to this day, I am unaware why I still feel allegiance to her.

Maggie smiles at me. "Of course you can call me 'Mama'," she tells me, lowering me to the ground and motioning to the social worker that we were going to walk and, thankfully, she nodded her permission.

I run ahead, determined to find the same hot dog vendor who sold the monstrosity of a hot dog to Hunter, and maybe some popcorn and cotton candy. I also remembered a stuffed animal truck that rotated around the park, and crossed my fingers that they would buy me a teddy bear of some kind.

"You okay?" Hunter asks Maggie, waving to me to let me know that I had to stick close to them—in their line of work, and now mine, too, we all knew the dangers of being an unsupervised child; no one is safe.

Maggie nods. "Yeah, it's just..."

"What?" Hunters asks when she doesn't continue right away.

Maggie sighs and turns to look at him. "I want to find my birth mother and father," she replies before turning and waving to me; I have found the hot dog vendor, and I am already placing an order.

"Let's do it," Sonny says, and I rattle my handcuffs at him briefly before making my way on camera.

"Freya Westbrook," I say, and she does her best to play off the whole situation unfolding before her. "Sergeant Edythe, I really think..."

"Show some respect—it's Lieutenant Edythe now," Sonny says.

"Freya Westbrook," I say again, "you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, the attempted murder of Agnes Westbrook, and child abuse," I say, hauling her up from her desk in quick succession.

"This is madness!" Freya shouts as we pass by the station manager. "Call my lawyer immediately!"

I ignore her continued asking of assistance and manage to haul her out of there, the camera following us the entire time. "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you..."

"Signed, sealed, and delivered?" Olivia asks me. "Freya?"

I nod at her, looking over my new office, which had formally been Amanda's, Fin's, hers, and Don's. "I can't thank you enough..."

"For what?" she asks.

I smile at her. "For coming in here and giving me the low-down," I reply.

She smiles, pulling me into her arms. "You're ready—that's what Don said to me, what I said to Fin, and what Fin said to Amanda. Did Amanda say it to you? Please tell me she did..."

I chuckled. "Yes—not in so many words, but yes."

Olivia nods. "Well, I've given you all the sage advice you need," she says, walking to the doorway.

"But, you'll still be around?" I ask, moving to follow her.

She smiles and nod a second time. "Of course—I'm not going anywhere. SVU is in our blood, Edythe. You don't shake that, ever."

I nod. "Of course not," I reply.

She gives me a final smile and opens the door, looking out. "You've got yourself a good squad here, Edythe. Don't take them for granted."

"Never," I assure her.

Turning back to me, she says, "Do something with the place, will you?" with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. And with Don Cragen's words radiating in my ears, Olivia shut the door behind her.

I lean up against the desk, and look around me. At the golden nameplate, the office, at everything. "We did it, Mom," I say softly, looking around. "We did it—I wouldn't be standing here without you..." I am interrupted by a phone call, and jump to answer it. "Lieutenant Beckett, SVU," I say into the receiver.

THE END


End file.
